In The Realm Of The Basses
by purplebowties
Summary: A series of one-shots on Chuck and Blair's married life.
1. Purple Reign

**Purple Reign:**

The first thing Blair felt, as she reluctantly gave up to her body's decision to wake up, was the impossibility to move.

She slowly tried to change the position of her legs to gain back control of all the still asleep muscles and, when she understood that she couldn't, she also became aware of the fact that there was something rather heavy weighting on her. Something that, she realized as all of her senses progressively came back to consciousness, smelled like finest men's cologne and Scotch and left on her skin the sweet sensation to be touched by soft, smooth silk.

Blair finally found the strength to open her eyes. Even though the room was dark and her sight was still blurry, as she turned her head on the pillow, her eyes immediately focused on Chuck, sleeping by her side. She softly smiled at the image of her husband: somehow, during the night, he had ended up using her as a cushion. He had wrapped his right arm and one of his legs around her, unconsciously making sure that she wasn't putting any distance between them. Although Blair had known for years that was the way Chuck used to sleep, the fact that he managed to be possessive and a bit insecure even when he wasn't conscious never missed to amuse Blair.

She had to fight the sudden desire to place a kiss on his lips, closing her eyes to resist to the temptation. She really didn't want to wake him yet. Asleep, he looked more calm and peaceful than she had seen him in days. It had been a rough month for Chuck.

_Returning to the real world after their honeymoon in Europe had meant to him having to face everything they had left behind, too lost in their euphoric bubble to focus on anything that wasn't each other. They had managed to keep away the worries, the responsibilities and, most of all, the memories of what had happened before their wedding for six amazing weeks, spent in a dazzling mix of great sex and soft talks about the future they were going to build together._

_Chuck had looked so happy, so finally complete and free, that Blair had never found the courage or the will to break his temporary estrangement from the truth of what they had gone through. She had felt the need protect him from that inevitable pain for as long as she could._

_But, once back in New York, their almost surreal nest of happiness had crashed against the reality of people whispering and questioning, of paparazzi standing in front of _The Empire_ for hours, impatient to catch "_The billionaire heir Chuck Bass_" to ask him how his father had exactly died, if he had anything to do with it, if he was pleased about it._

_Even though Chuck had publicly handled the pressure in a very distinguished and dignified way, Blair had seen him struggling with being forced to remember that night, to come to terms with what it had meant to him. It was a silent war she had observed him fighting against himself, conflicted;__ she had been sure about it, between feeling that he needed her and not wanting to drag her into that hole of dark thoughts._

_"Don't shut me out," Blair had asked him at dinner, after a couple of days of that mute suffering. "Do you think I don't know that you're hurting? You can tell me, Chuck. I want to know."_  
_"I'm not shutting you out, Blair," he had whispered, after a long sigh. "I just…" he had placed the fork he was holding on the plate and closed his eyes, breathing in. "You __shouldn't have to deal with this. I'm not supposed to feel weak. I'm supposed to be stronger. I'm supposed to make you happy, but I'm failing."_

_"I am happy," she had given him a bright smile, "I'm your wife and I want you." Hearing those words, Chuck had opened his eyes again and Blair had remembered the same gaze staring at her during their honeymoon, so full of serenity and peace. She had covered his hand with hers, feeling nostalgic but not discouraged: that man was still there, this was just another side of him, another piece of the complicated mosaic her husband was. "All of you. Whatever is that you're feeling, I can handle it."_

_He had remained silent for a while, keeping his eyes on her. Blair had seen his lips tremble a little as if he was scared to say out of loud what he was thinking, so she had held his hand with more strength, making him feel not only physical contact, but also her emotional presence._

_"I shouldn't care," he had started breathing heavily. "And I don't. I don't care about him, Blair, not anymore."_

_It was just __a half-truth, Blair knew it, but she had left him the choice to believe in it. Forcing him to face how deep and how painful the wounds his father had left on his soul (at that point Chuck couldn't even bring himself to pronounce Bart's name anymore) was a cruelty that she wasn't going to make him go through._

_"You can't ask yourself to be fine, Chuck. He tried to kill you." She had pronounced the last words in a trembling whisper, literally unable not to show her anger and her disgust. She had never hated anyone in her whole life as she had hated Bart Bass._

_Chuck had taken a deep breath, shaking his head. Blair had caressed the back of his hand, silently encouraging him with her eyes to explain himself._

_"It's not just that, Blair. He's never loved me and I know now that it wasn't my fault. But all my life I thought __that running _Bass Industries_ was my dream. I grew up knowing that I had to get ready for this moment and I wanted to be prepared. And now that I finally am that dream feels…" he had stopped, trying to find the right word. "Spoiled," he had finally said, with a bitter tone._

_Blair had felt the need to hug him but, knowing there was more; she had just kept on holding his hand._

_"He poisoned it. Not only he tried to kill me to keep his position, he also tried to destroy everything I love. Lily, Nate…you," he had stopped again, unable to continue._

_The terror he was feeling at that thought was so blatant that Blair had to rapidly close her eyes to stop herself from crying. Every word had been like a knife ran through her heart. The way he was talking, all the hurt and the anger she was feeling in his words had made her body physically ache.  
_  
_"Chuck, we're all safe," she had said immediately, trying to calm him down. "I am here" _

_She had stood up and sat on his knees. Chuck had taken her in his arms, placing his hands on her back. Seeing his eyes turning wet from unshed tears and sensing his fingers trembling from the fear he was finally letting himself feel, Blair had realized that she would have done anything for him. She would have been his shelter, his family and his home. She would have been everything he didn't have and everything he couldn't be. He was her husband, her king, and all she had felt to want was to make him feel safe and happy at the peak of her possibilities._

_Chuck had briefly closed his eyes one more time, to fight back the tears. Then, opening them again, he had looked down. "Everything he's done, he's done it because he couldn't __let his company go, it was the only thing that mattered to him. And I want to rule it; I want it so badly that it makes me feel like I'm tainted. I let him fall and I don't regret it. I don't feel guilty, Blair. What does this say about me?"_

_"It just says there's no place for him in your heart anymore," Blair had answered, running her fingers through his hair. He had risen up his gaze at her touch and she had reached his cheeks with both of her hands, so that she could hold his head and force him to look at her in the eyes. "You were born to be in charge of _Bass Industries_, Chuck, it's who you are. You are an extremely talented, ambitious man who has worked every day of his life to reach this goal. You've taken care of your legacy with more respect and more passion than Bart has ever done." Blair had felt pride turning her eyes wet and she had made her hands slither across Chuck's chest, just to feel his heart beating fast. "He didn't have a soul. All he could do was destroying everything around him and eventually he destroyed himself. But he can't take anything away from you anymore. You can't change the past, but the future is in your hands and I know you're going to run your company with strength and power, you'll do it amazingly well."_

_Chuck had let his head fall on her shoulder, intensely breathing in. He had looked so vulnerable in that moment that Blair had felt proud of the way he had learnt to completely let her in, to let himself trust her without a single doubt._

_"Will you be by __my side?" he had asked her after a minute of silence, in a murmur. He had raised his head to be able to meet her glance again. Blair had smiled, taking his chin between her fingers._

_"I couldn't and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," she had told him, with the most reassuring tone she had managed to give to her voice, even if she was still feeling emotionally weak from the pain she had seen him fighting with._

_Chuck had suddenly kissed her, a deep and greedy kiss that had made her understand exactly what he wanted from her. Her thoughts had been confirmed a few seconds later, when, separating his lips from hers, he had said: "I need you, Blair. I need you now."_

_Blair had started kissing him back passionately, to make sure he knew she had understood. He had taken her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom._

_ A few days later, as she was standing by his side and tightly holding his hand during the press conference __in which Chuck had been officially announced _CEO_ of _Bass Industries_, Blair had thought back on that lovemaking as one of the best gifts her marriage had given her till that moment: the awareness of how deeply Chuck belonged to her and how much he still needed her._

Blair's eyes were still closed when Chuck woke up. He let his somnolent gaze embrace her figure, he noticed how he had wrapped her body with his arm and his legs in his sleep.

He didn't remember it, but he wasn't surprised. When they were together he was hardly able to stop himself from touching her, he couldn't help it. He had to feel her proximity, whether it meant just skimming over her shoulder with his hand when they were sitting next to each other in a public place or never missing a single spot of her skin during sex.

He weakly smirked, realizing that she wasn't sleeping from the way her chest was lifting and lowering; her breaths weren't regular and calm as they were when she was lost in oblivion.

Blair had an unconscious tiny smile pictured on her lips and Chuck wondered what she was thinking about. Obliviously, whatever was running through her mind, was giving to her face that pleased luminosity. He felt an unstoppable curiosity definitely killing any trace of sleepiness in his body: he was so happy and so proud of knowing her so perfectly well that he didn't like the idea that there could be a place in Blair's mind precluded to his ability to understand her.

Chuck started to make his leg slowly slither on hers, to let Blair know he was awake. Then, noticing she was still keeping her eyes closed to torture him a little (it was something she liked to do, since she usually woke up before him), he put his free hand on her neck, lightly tapping his fingers on her skin. He didn't have to keep on for long, at that touch Blair's eyelids snap opened.

Chuck grinned, pleased with himself. "Good morning, beautiful," he whispered.

"Good morning to you, Bass," she said. The delicate smile she had on her lips became larger.

Chuck moved the leg which was still tangled around her body so that she could roll on one side to face him, but he still left his arm lazily leaned against her waist. Then, gently, he made his head slide on the pillow, to get closer to her lips. He kissed her, closing his eyes to fully enjoy the touch of her mouth.

"What were you thinking about?" he asked her after, unable to hide the desire to know. "You were glowing," he added with fake nonchalance, trying to sound a bit less interested. He was irrationally dying to find out what was the reason behind the delighted expression pictured on his wife's face and he knew that, if she had understood how much fascinated he felt, she would have made him fight to get his answer.

Blair, who had in the meantime placed an hand on his chest and was toying with the buttons of his silk pajama, gave him an amused look.

"A woman has her secrets," she casually answered with her best innocent tone, even though Chuck could see her eyes shining from the pleasure of keeping him hanging.

Realizing that he had to use some of his weapons to get what he wanted, Chuck smirked naughtily and rapidly moved under the sheets, without giving her the time or the space to stop him. In a second he was on top of her, enjoying the way her cheeks had immediately turned pink.

"Not if she's married to Chuck Bass," he told her. Conscious of the way Blair loved how he lacked of modesty (even though she liked to pretend to be annoyed by his hardly contained arrogance), Chuck pronounced the words with pride. Then, seeing how she had closed her eyes and happily given up to his intentions, he bent his head down to kiss her.

His lips were only an inch away from her mouth when the noise of something heavy falling coming from the other room broke their moment. It was immediately followed by the sound of someone stumbling and then they finally recognized Nate's voice, who had pronounced a loud and not very elegant: "_Shit!_".

Chuck sighed. Since they still hadn't found a house to buy that matched up with his wife's expectations (every proposition he had come up with had been rejected by Blair, who was still trying to find something that impeccably fitted the idea she had in mind) they had been staying at the Empire.

Nate had provisionally moved to a suite one floor below. Being it just a temporarily solution, Nate hadn't bothered to bring in his new hotel room all of his stuff, so he still used to show up to come get some of the clothes he had left in his room (actually, Chuck had a suspect that his best friend often used it as an excuse to spend some time with him, probably scared that his marriage would have changed something in their relationship).

To Chuck's surprise, the idea of living there had been Blair's.

_A few days before the end of their honeymoon, while they were walking hand in hand through _Via Montenapoleone **[1]**_, in Milan, he had asked her in which of his hotels she would have liked to stay until they'd chosen a satisfying place to start building their future as a family._

_Blair had looked deeply pensive for a while and Chuck had found himself staring at her expression completely stunned: the flowing of thoughts made her look like a mature woman, there was something maternal and tender in the way she was reflecting. He had felt secure, protected by the strength in her eyes and by the certainity that she wouldn't have left him. She was his roots, the solid rock by his side; she was the woman who was giving him the concrete possibility to build a family. One day, she would have been the mother of his child._

_"_The Empire_ will be perfect, Chuck," she had said after a few more seconds of wondering._

_Chuck had stopped walking, looking at her in astonishment. He had felt incredibly exposed, suddenly possessed by a wave of weakness. As much as he loved that hotel, _The Empire_ had seen the most painful moments of their relationship, there were so many hurtful memories cherished between those walls, in every spot of that building._

_He had nervously breathed in. "Are you sure, Blair?" he had asked her, with feeble voice._

_"Of course I am," she had answered. She had placed a hand on his face and smiled at him lovingly. At her touch, Chuck had felt something warming up his chest, unable to keep his eyes away from her serene and completely calm face. __"_The Empire i_s not just what we were, Chuck, it's also what we've become. It's us rising from our ashes, stronger and finally ready for our fate," she had softly caressed his cheek. "Together," she had finished, with an even wider smile._

Thinking about it now, that was probably the memory of their honeymoon he treasured more jealously.

"Why did you stop?" Blair suddenly asked him, bringing him back to the present.

Chuck giggled at the annoyed pout which had appeared on Blair's lips. "Nathaniel could hear us," he provoked her; perfectly aware that at that point Blair wouldn't have minded anyone's presence in the penthouse.

"I don't care," she said indeed, like he had predicted.

Chuck smirked as she grabbed the collar of his pajama and pulled his head downer to finally kiss him.

* * *

Thirty minutes later they were eating. Chuck's _valet _**[2]** had brought them breakfast in bed, along with Chuck's morning newspapers.

Even if Dorota hadn't been pleased to share the management of the house with someone, Blair really liked the man, who was incredibly well mannered and reverential. His name was Ivan, he was Russian and it looked like his duties consisted in making sure that Chuck didn't have to do anything for himself, except for walking the dog. Even though she already knew it,living an everyday life with Chuck had given her the confirmation that he had to be the most spoiled and vain creature she had ever met and that included herself.

Blair took a bite of her _croissant_ after having immersed it in the mixture of coffee and milk in her cup, looking at her husband: he was sitting, his back leaned against the bed's headboard, sipping an _espresso_. She smiled, noticing how focused Chuck looked while he was fulfilling his daily morning routine of reading financial pages.

After a while, probably sensing her gaze on him (he could always tell when she was looking at him and Blair cursed him for this particular ability because, every time, he ended up smirking at her with that pretentious vanity she couldn't help but adore), Chuck turned his head to bring his eyes and his attention back on her.

"So, are you finally going to tell him what you were thinking about?" he asked her, while placing the newspapers on the night table beside his side of the bed.

Blair, who had forgotten about the pretext which had eventually led them to amazing morning sex earlier, gave him a questioning look. Then, noticing how his expression had changed into the one he used to have when he couldn't get what he wanted (a small wrinkle would appear on his forehead every time he wasn't pleased about something), Blair had to keep herself from laughing.

He could be such a stubborn and obstinate person that she knew he would have kept on insisting until she had given up and told him.  
She thought for a moment that she could have continued to torture him for a while but she also knew that would have meant foreplay to the both of them and they couldn't be late for work. She sighed, shaking her head.

"You can be so annoying, Bass," she teased him, placing the empty cup of _cappuccino_ back on the tray. Then, getting closer to him, Blair couldn't help but smile with amused resignation at the victorious light in Chuck's dark eyes, as he put an arm around her shoulders.

"You should have thought about it before marrying me."

"Who said I didn't like this side of you?" she playfully responded to his joke, before placing her head on his chest. "Anyway, I was just thinking about last month," she said with a dreamy tone. "About the press conference. You have no idea how proud of you I felt in that moment."

As much as she loved toying with his need to control and know everything, she realized after pronouncing those words, even that peculiar way of flirting couldn't stand a chance in front of the happiness she felt with letting him know how deeply she respected him.

Chuck smiled shyly and glanced down. It was one of the many contradictions Blair loved about him.

He could be the most arrogant and presumptuous person nine times out of ten, but then there always was that circumstance when looked insecure and fragile, like if he was still the sixteen years old boy trying to convince himself that he wasn't a failure. Even though Blair knew how hard Chuck had worked to finally reach a real and aware self-esteem, something different from that ostentatious self-importance he had always showed off to the world, sometimes he still had to fight to see himself as someone he could be really proud of. It was one of the many scars she couldn't cancel from his soul but that she loved deeply, as parts of the man she had chosen to spend her life with.

"Sometimes when I go to work it still feels like that place doesn't belong to me," he confessed her, speaking in a low voice, a thoughtful expression appeared on his face.

Blair raised her eye-brows. "Is something wrong?" she asked him.

Chuck had been fine ever since that moment of weakness he had faced after their honeymoon. Every now and then she caught him looking very pensive and quiet, but most of the times she felt he was happy. Still, Blair had noticed how he wasn't showing that enthusiasm she had expected him to feel once taken complete control of _Bass Industries_. She hadn't interrogated him about the topic though, she had preferred to wait for things to follow their natural curse, knowing that Chuck would have needed time to process everything and finally let himself feel satisfied about what he had achieved. It was something he had to and, Blair knew it, wanted to do on his own.

Chuck shook his head, raising his eyes again and giving her a tiny smile. "Nothing is wrong, Blair."

He delicately shifted his arm from her shoulders,and then he got up and grabbed the night-gown which was folded on the chair next to the bed. Blair stayed still where she was, looking at him.

He silently put on his purple robe, then he got closer again and bent down to kiss Blair on her forehead. "You don't have to worry about this, I'm fine," he told her. "It's just a sensation."

Blair watched Chuck walking towards the bathroom, wondering what she could do to stop him from feeling like that. She thought about him staying in his office, surrounded by the austere furniture Bart had filled the place with and her heart ached, as she realized how suffocating and intimidating it must have been for Chuck. She had to fix it; she wouldn't have allowed anything or anyone to upset him.

Then, suddenly, she smiled with satisfaction, as the energy of a great idea started spreading in her mind. When he closed the door she took her mobile phone from the bedside cabinet and sent a text, feeling extremely proud of herself.

* * *

The same day, during the afternoon, Blair was sitting behind the desk in her office, lips curved into a satisfied smile, as she watched Jack Bass stepping through the entrance.

Her secretary, who was keeping the door open to let him walk in, shyly glanced at him.

"Mr. Bass is here for you, Mrs. Waldorf. Do you need anything else?" she asked. Jack turned back to look at the girl, who was now blushing evidently.

Blair rolled her eyes, not having any difficulties to imagine what kind of gross flirting he must had put Danielle through before entering. She shook her head. "No, Danielle. You can go now."

Jack smirked and took a seat on one of the chairs in front of Blair's desk as the secretary left the room.

"My compliments on your taste in secretaries, Blair," he observed, looking back to the now closed door. "She has a great ass."

Blair ignored the comment and crossed her legs. "Aren't you curious to know why I've asked you to come here?"

Jack, who had moved back his eyes on her, leaned his back on the seat-back of the chair, making himself more comfortable. "I assume you need something," he started, the smirk still on his lips. "I also assume that my nephew doesn't have to know, or you wouldn't have asked me to meet you without him around." He opened his arms, to explain in a gesture how obvious it all looked to him.

Blair nodded. "You assume right."

Jack giggled, clearly amused by the situation. "If you're planning on cheating on Chuck with me I must inform you that I am not available," he said, before sighing theatrically. "I'd like to remain alive."

Blair sighed with annoyance, giving him a warning look. "I don't have time for jokes, Jack," she admonished him, clarifying she wasn't in the mood for his games.

Jack leaned forward in the chair, placing his hands on the desk. He started tapping his fingers on the wood. "So, what could the Queen of New York ever need Uncle Jack's help with?" he asked.

"I need Chuck to stay of town for three days. I'm sure you can make it happen," Blair answered, twisting her fingers together. She smiled at the surprise appeared on Jack's face.

He frowned, confused. "I'm not his boss Blair; _I_ can't make _him_ do anything," he said, looking at her with questioning eyes. "Actually, it works the other way around."

There had been a time when Jack would have never accepted to work under Chuck's control, a time when he would have fought to get everything Chuck had, with all of his cynicism and his secret and manipulative ways, but now things were different. Blair knew Chuck had understood that everything Jack had done, he had done it out of jealousy. It had been one of the many terrible things Bart Bass had done in his life, creating an environment where people could become bitter and cruel, where it was legit for an uncle to grow to hate his nephew. But, eventually, Chuck and Jack had managed to re-build a good relationship, based on the peculiar respect they felt for each other at that point, realizing that they didn't have an enemy in each other, but that they had one in common. Even though Blair wasn't Jack's biggest fan, she had been extremely proud of Chuck when he had given his uncle an important position in _Bass Industries_ and allowed him to move back in New York. He was family to Chuck, the only person left that he shared blood with, and Blair couldn't and didn't want to discuss his decision to have him in his life.

"I know that. I also know that Chuck has planned for you to go to London next week, I've overheard one of his phone calls some days ago," she explained. "Now, you could ask him to come with you. I'm certain you can find a way to make him think his presence is indispensable," she concluded, pleased with herself. It was such a perfect plan.

Jack looked serious for the first time since they had started that conversation. He crossed his arms with a thoughtful expression. "Chuck is not as easy to deceive as he used to be, Blair."

Blair laughed, realizing once again how their relationship had changed. It was clear to her Jack didn't like the idea of potentially ruing Chuck's trust. "You're not deceiving him; you're just helping his wife to give him the best surprise," she declared, with enthusiasm.

Jack stared at her for some seconds, and then he sighed. "What do you have in mind?"

Blair, who had been dying to finally reveal that great idea she had kept for herself till that moment, handed him a folder full of notes.

"Let's just say I want to do something to his office," she said, barely holding her enthusiasm. "I don't want him to be surrounded by memories of Bart. It's his room, he should feel powerful and in control when he's in there," she kept on, more talking to herself than to Jack.

She had spent the whole morning with the best architects and interior designers she had managed to find, trying to create the perfect space for Chuck. They had promised that it could have been ready in three days, even though that would have meant having to work during the night too. But, she had understood, being Blair Waldorf Bass meant that no one was ever going to say no to you. She really enjoined the feeling.

"And what do I gain?" Jack asked. Blair, who had been waiting for this question, smirked.

"Less space, actually," she said, showing him the project. When he noticed his own office had been reduced into a smaller one to make Chuck's larger, he looked at her with irritation. Jack was about to say something, but Blair stopped him, raising her hand.

"I may know where Georgina has been hiding," she added, enjoying every second of the astonished expression appeared on Jack's face.

After a second he tightened his lips in an annoyed sneer.

"Do you know about…?"

"About how Georgie disappeared after you two had sex and you've been stalking her without succeeding ever since?" Blair anticipated him, lighting up with enjoyment and self-esteem. "And before you ask, yes, Chuck told me. He tells me everything," she concluded, feeling the usual pleasure she felt every time she came out victorious from a conversation, getting what she wanted. "So, do you have feelings for the _psycho killer_ doll?" she provoked him. "I couldn't think of a better pair."

At the end of her speech Jack grumbled. He looked extremely peeved. "_I don't do feelings,"_ he said proudly. "I just want to get into her pants one more time."

Blair laughed, that statement sounding very familiar in her ears. "Whatever you say, Jack. So, do we have a deal?" she glanced at him, knowing she had won.

Jack nodded. "Sill a master in manipulation, I see. I can understand why my nephew is so in love with you," he commented, standing up. "You two have found each other."

The day after Blair pretended not to know about the business trip Chuck announced her he had to go on, doing her best to look unaware and also a bit disappointed at the thought of not seeing him for some days. She didn't like lying to him, she knew how much he valued trust and how sensitive he was on that account, but this time it would have been worth it. He would have loved her surprise; Blair was absolutely convinced about it.

* * *

Stepping off the Bass jet, three days later, Chuck breathed in and smiled, happy to be back in New York.

The trip had been honestly superfluous. They had closed a deal for the acquisition of a new building (Chuck was planning to open five new luxury hotels in Europe by the end of the year and London had been his first choice), something that Jack could have easily done on his own, since all the details had been already sorted out before the trip had been planned. To explain why his uncle had requested his presence, Chuck had come to the conclusion that Jack had wanted to show him concretely that he was trust-worthy, in one of his silent and unclear ways. However, eventually, even if he would have rather avoided those three days away, he had ended up enjoying that time with him. They had bonded over business talks and exquisite Scotch and Chuck had found extremely amusing hearing Jack ranting about Georgina. He had also found some time to go on ascots**[3]** shopping (Jack had followed him just to make fun of his vanity and his obsession for purple): all of those beautiful accessories had been folded and placed in an apposite luggage, which in that moment was being carried by the flight assistants to his limousine, along with his other four suitcases.

Chuck waited for Jack to climb down the stairs which connected the jet's entrance to the ground and when he felt his uncle touching his shoulder he turned to say bye.

"I will see you tomorrow."

Jack nodded, shaking his hand. "Enjoy your night, nephew," he said with a smirk, before walking to his own town-car.

Chuck did the same, reaching Arthur who was waiting for him in front of the limousine.

"Good evening, Mr. Bass," he welcomed him, politely taking off his hat. He opened the door and kept it open so that Chuck could slide inside.

Blair's perfume reached him even before his eyes had time to rest on her. She was waiting for him, sitting with her legs crossed under the fabric of her purple gown and a wide smile curving her lips.

"Welcome home, Chuck." She greeted him, as he sat down on the black leather seat next to her.

Chuck looked at her completely stunned; he wasn't expecting to see her there, she was supposed to wait for him at home, as they had planned when he called her some hours ago from the plane.

"This was unexpected."

He slid on the seats, so that he could get close enough to her to kiss her. Meeting her lips and her tongue Chuck realized how much he had missed her body during those three days: although they had spoken on the phone every evening, nothing compared to the possibility to touch her. He was just starting to make his hands slither under her dress when she stopped him.

"Slow down, Bass," she said, interrupting the long kiss, "I won't let you ruin my surprise."

Chuck frowned, confused, asking himself what she was talking about. All he wanted to do in that moment was making love to his wife.

"I thought this was the surprise," he answered, glancing down at her dress. "You should know you shouldn't wear purple if you want me to keep my hands off of you," he put his lips on her neck which was left nude by the neckline and started to place brief kisses on her skin. "Besides, you're dressed to kill and I miss you."

Blair swallowed hard. Even though she looked really determined, Chuck smirked as he saw her trying to resist to the temptation.

"Oh, I'm planning to kill you, but I'm afraid you will have to wait some more time," she told him. She reached his bowtie with her hands and unraveled the knot, before pulling it out. "Good things come to ones who wait, Chuck," Blair declared. Then she started running the silk fabric of his tie through her fingers, smiling softly.

"What do you have in mind, Blair?" Chuck asked, extremely curious. He was feeling equally intrigued and frustrated by the mysterious ways Blair was using.

"You'll see."

Blair's mischievous smile was the last thing his eyes were able to catch, before she wrapped the bowtie around his head, forcing him to blindness.

* * *

Even though Chuck had always been a fan of sex games, being forced to walk without being able to see where he was going wasn't exactly his supreme idea of foreplay. He grumbled, holding Blair's hand as tight as he could, sure that she wouldn't have let him fall.

"Where are we going, Blair?" Chuck asked for the tenth time. He could have easily got rid of his improvised bandage, but he was sure this momentary torture would have led him to something extremely pleasant. Chuck thought for a moment about how he would have enjoined having blind sex with Blair and the idea allowed him to walk for a few more steps.

**"**We're almost there," she assured him, as they stopped.

He heard the sound of an elevator's doors opening and then he felt Blair dragging him inside. The ride was pretty long, so he assumed they were in a high building, maybe a skyscraper. It wasn't the Empire, he was sure, but somehow the place felt familiar.

When the elevator ringed again and Blair guided him out of it Chuck felt the smell of fresh wall painting reaching his nose. He was about to rise up his free hand and finally take off the bowtie from his eyes, but Blair strongly took his wrist and stopped him.

"Just one more second, Chuck," she promised, opening a door with some keys.

As they stepped inside hand in hand and stopped after a few steps, Chuck felt the smell becoming more robust; he took a deep breath, excited to know where he was and what Blair had in mind.

He felt her hands trembling on his face and he knew in that moment she was emotional. At the thought of her face lighting up with feelings Chuck couldn't help but smile, as her fingers worked to pull the bandage away.

After he gained back his sight, Chuck had to think about it for a second before realizing where he was. Then, as he turned on himself, his eyes ran all around the room and he understood: it was his office, only that it didn't look like the one he had left three days ago.

First of all it was considerably larger. It wasn't just a big office anymore, now there was also a sitting room area, a billiard table and a bar on one corner.  
The wood panels on the walls had been replaced by a purple elaborated textile wallpapers and the room now looked far less suffocating and imperious to his eyes. Everything, from the black leather armchairs to the carpets on the _parquet_, seemed like something he would have chosen for himself.

He noticed, as he focused on the details, that he could spot his initials everywhere: on the balls on the billiard table, on the pillows on the sofa, even incised on the marble of the fireplace; all of his favorite paintings had been brought there from the Empire, along with may pictures which had been placed on a small table in front of the couch. There were pictures of him and Blair from the wedding and their honeymoon, one with Nate where they both looked extremely young and one with Lily.

Then his eyes finally focused on the desk, which was placed in front of the wall on the opposite side of the room, in middle, between the two big windows.  
It was made of dark wood, but the tabletop was a black marble sheet.

Chuck thought it was the best piece in the chamber, but he had to change his mind when he noticed the chair behind it. It was throne shaped: the wood had been lacquered with black varnish and it had been inlaid with so much care and precision that it almost looked like a sculpture, while the seat was coated with purple velvet. It was beautiful.

Chuck brought his eyes back on Blair, still too surprised to speak. He opened his mouth to say something, but she anticipated him.

"Do you like it?" she asked him, a bit insecure. Realizing she was scared he may have not appreciated her surprise, Chuck took her hands his and kissed them.

"Are you kidding me? It's amazing, Blair," he answered, feeling joy and emotion wetting his eyes with moved tears. "It's perfect. It's big, it's luxurious, it's regal, it's purple," he explained himself, feeling excitement with every word. "It's-"

"It's _you,_" Blair ended the sentence for him. "It' also a bit megalomaniac, isn't it?" she added and laughed softly, pointing at his initials on the pillows.

"How did you know how much I needed this?" Chuck asked her, still dazzled by the surprise and by that satisfaction he felt in his chest. "I didn't even know that I did."

Blair looked at him in his eyes and raised a hand to caress his cheek. "You said you didn't feel like you belonged here and I wanted you to love this place. I wanted to you to feel strong and secure in here and I knew it wasn't possible if you were surrounded by his memories," she said, without needing to explain who she was talking about. "It is your kingdom now."

Chuck looked around one more time, a tiny smile on his lips. "He would have hated it, there's too much purple," he said, giggling nervously. For a second the image of Bart's face came to his mind, cold and ruthless as he remembered it. He shook his head and sighed. "I thought about changing this place so many times..." he added, looking down.

"But you didn't."

"I didn't. I was just scared it would have meant something if I did, that I had to get rid of everything that reminded me of him because I still cared," Chuck finally admitted, both to Blair and to himself.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder and let him place his hands on her hips. She held him tight, soundlessly.

"Thank you," Chuck whispered after a minute of that silence, not able to find the words to express how grateful he truly felt. Even though he couldn't see her, Chuck knew that a smile had appeared on her lips.

"I meant what I said the other day, Chuck," she told him. "I feel so proud of you. I just wish you could always feel proud of yourself."

Suddenly, Chuck felt the need to kiss her. He squeezed her hips and pushed her body close to his. She raised her head from his shoulder to dace him again. Their lips met for a long and passionate moment. He kept on kissing her till they both felt breathless, their hearts racing from the emotion and the desire.

"What do you say if we christen your new throne?" Blair proposed him, unable to hide her arousal.

Chuck looked at her in adoration. "I love you," he murmured in her ear, before lifting her up.

As he carried her in his arms, Chuck felt powerful. It wasn't just the place she had created for him to make him feel like that, it was Blair herself, with the love she had for him. He had a realm and, more importantly, he had a queen. He couldn't have asked for more.

* * *

**Notes:**

**[1]** Via Monenapoleone is one of the most beautiful and famous places in Milan. It's the place to go for high quality shopping, if you have the money.

**[2]** At some point of the series, Chuck stopping having a valet (or they probably just stopped showing he had one). I think it's unacceptable, lol. So, in my mind, he has one. And he'll keep on having one.

**[3] **The ascot is a kind of tie. We've seen Chuck wearing it several times. First that comes to my mind is 2X03, at Blair's party. Anyway it has English origins.

**[4]** English is not my native language, I'm Italian. I hope there aren't too many mistakes. A big thanks to Daphne who corrected the fic!


	2. Safety

Safety:

"I can't believe you've been hiding in there for ten minutes already, Chuck." Blair rolled her eyes and continued to put on her ruby lipstick, staring at her reflection in the mirror of the vanity set.

Chuck didn't answer; she heard, for the third time since he had entered his closet, the noise of some drawer being closed, another being opened and then, at last, her husband sighing heavily - that sound he made every time he was impatient and, in this case, the sign that the research for the "_Right tie for this suit_" wasn't proceeding well.

Picturing in her mind the surely bothered expression his face must have assumed, she giggled.  
"It's taking you _forever_, Bass," she said in a sarcastic tone, rising her voice to make sure he could hear her clearly. "You close deals faster than you choose your ties."

The only reply she got was another sigh, this time longer, immediately followed by an indistinct muttering. Knowing that Chuck was probably complaining about her urging him to hurry (the solicitation to rush to get ready was certainly irritating for someone so vain), Bair shook her head in resignation and gave a last critic look to her reflection, smacking her lips together before placing the lipstick back in its place, together with the others.

She then turned, letting her eyes travel all around the room, as a smile spread across her face. The master bedroom was definitely her favorite spot in the house, it was stunning; even if it was elegantly furnished and regal in its style, it still gave her a nice sense of warmth.

It was exactly the feeling she wanted Chuck to experience, she had come to realize during the time spent looking for the ideal place to live and start building their future, that safety given by the awareness that there was a place he could really call home.

They had found and bought their townhouse after six months of a very accurate research and Chuck, knowing how enthusiastic she was at the idea of creating the perfect environment for them, had left her carte blanche on the refurbishing works, attesting that he was more than happy to let her surprise him.

And she had. Blair had put so much energy and dedication into making every single corner of the residence comfortable and intimate - something very different from the hotel suites where he had spent his whole life - and the wide, genuine grin appeared on Chuck's face when he had eventually seen the place finished for the first time, three weeks ago, had given her the confirm that all of her efforts have been worth it: _she_ was his home. She would have cherished the memory of his pure happiness forever, understanding its rarity and knowing she was the reason behind it.

Her smile became larger when she saw Chuck stepping out of his walk-in closet, holding two red ties, one in each hand. He stopped in the middle of the room, right in front of the bed, taking some time to stare at them with an indecisive look, intensely focused as he considered both of the options. After a while the corners of his lips curved into a self-satisfied tiny smile, showing that his doubts had disappeared and made room for a final choice; he delicately laid down the darker one on the duvet, careful not to crease its fabric, and then placed the other on the bed bench, leaving it where he knew that Ivan would have found it and put it back in its place.

"And, at last, he makes this incredibly difficult decision." Blair mocked him, before turning back to the mirror to put on her earing.

From the reflection she saw him directing his gaze to her and arching his eyebrows in a slightly offended pose, which caused her to chuckle, not surprised but still amused by his clear susceptibility.

"Perfection requires time and care," he dramatically declared as he approached her, pinning the cufflinks he had selected on the cream shirt while walking slowly. "I've never thought you had a problem with your husband looking unblemished."

Once he reached her, he bent down to place a kiss on the nape of her neck. Blair closed her eyes; obeying to his movement, she bowed her head on the other side, sensing his lips still pressed against her skin curving into a smirk. The way he inhaled a deep, long breath, surely basking in the scent of her perfume, made her laugh softly.

"Of course I don't," Blair said after a few seconds, reluctantly interrupting that contact to push the chair back and stand up.

Chuck stepped aside. His silent, waiting – he was clearly expecting a compliment at that point - glance stayed fixed on her as she moved towards him and, when she got close enough, he took the chance to wrap an arm around her, his eyes going back up her figure.

"I am very much happy with my vain and incredibly handsome husband," Blair praised him.

In an obvious sign of satisfaction, the smirk crossing his face turned sharper and more oblique and she couldn't help but smile at the suddenly pleased light in his gaze.

Blair started to unhurriedly run her hands up to his chest. "What I have a problem with is arriving late to our brunch with Lily," she told him, accurately fastening the first two buttons of his shirt, which he had left still undone. "It's impolite."

As her fingers started working on smoothing the fabric of the collar, Blair glanced up on him and gave him a resolute look, to which he responded rolling his eyes and huffing, the same thing he had done for the last two hours, ever since she had – and not without difficulties - woken him up.

It was a Sunday and Blair knew that Chuck's ideal Sunday morning was spent entirely in bed, possibly with her, doing absolutely nothing besides giving into laziness (and often sex, obviously) and that's exactly what they had done almost every Sunday of the eight months they had been married. Occasionally, though, Chuck let Lily convince him to agree on a brunch. She would have left for a vacation with William in two days and she had insisted that they'd attend, which was why they had ended up being already up and dressed at 10 AM – and his deliberate leisureliness was a blatant proof of how that circumstance certainly did not thrill him.

Chuck unwillingly let go of her waist and made his way to the king-sized bed.

"Lily won't mind a bit of delay," he stated in a indolent voice tone, bending down to collect the tie he had left rested there. He walked to the full body mirror on the other side of the room and stopped in front of it. "I need to talk to her about something that will definitely make her happy enough to forget any alleged act of rudeness."

That statement made Blair immediately wrinkle her eyebrows with interrogative interest. "Something about Bass Industries?" she asked, curiosity causing her words to sound a little acute.

Whatever it was, it certainly had to concern business, she thought, because she had no idea of what he was talking about – which was odd to say at least. She couldn't think about anything else that Chuck would have gone to discuss with his step-mother before letting her know first.

"Not exactly," he said, his voice lowering as he focused on his reflection, making the loosen tie slide under the collar of the shirt till each edge reached precisely the height he wanted. "I've simply made a decision that I know she will agree with."

Blair sat down on the bed, frowning. "A decision?"

"Yes," he distractedly replied, absorbed by his figure in the mirror, as his expert fingers moved nimbly on the silk tie. Completely unaware of the traces of impatience suddenly appeared on his wife's face, Chuck kept on tying a perfect Windsor knot, taking all the time necessary to do it with extreme care and not rushing to give her a less vague response.

He only turned to face her when he heard her clear her throat in a rather annoyed way.

"And since when do you make decisions without involving me?"

The irritated note in Blair's voice suggested him that it was wise not to give in to the impulse to laugh in front of her undeniably piqued expression and uncontainable need to know everything. He finished fixing his tie, tightening it with one last rapid movement, and then made his way back to the bed.

"I wanted to be sure that I really wanted to go through with it before discussing it with you," he answered, taking a seat next to her. Blair gave him a suspicious look when he placed one hand on her knee and then started to follow an imaginary trail along her thigh with his index finger. "And now that I am, I was just waiting for the right moment to tell you," he lightly kissed her shoulder, which was only partially covered by the sleeveless dress she was wearing. "I had planned on doing it tonight, over dinner," he glanced up, meeting her still very much wary eyes. He pushed a curl behind her ear. "But I suppose you won't let me keep you hanging that long, am I wrong?"

He was really proud of whatever he had to tell her, Blair realized, watching his eyebrows arching in a satisfied way. Not only the intentional slothfulness he had put into pronouncing every word, careful to accompany them with theatrical pauses, but also his unequivocally gloating expression, made her grow even more curious and drained the last drop of her patience.

"I definitely will not," she rolled her eyes. "Tell me, Chuck," she ordered. "_Now_."

Under her inquisitive stare, the amused smirk which had immediately curved Chuck's lips at her imperative approach – her voice had assumed those bossy, authoritarian notes that never missed to charm him - softened and turned into a little smile.

He took a deep breath and grabbed her hand. "I've been thinking a lot about our safety ever since we've moved in," he said, starting to caress the back of her hand with his thumb. "And I've come to the conclusion that we do need a proper security service."

Blair frowned in confusion. "But the house already has the best security system we managed to find."

He shook his head. "I know, Blair, I'm not talking about the house," he paused to bring his gaze on her. "I'm talking about personal security."

She opened her eyes wide and then blinked. "Do you mean that you want to hire bodyguards?"

"Exactly." Chuck nodded, his face becoming serious. "For me and also for you," he added right away. He looked down for a moment, as he reached for her arm with his free hand and started stroking it, his fingers moving in small circles.

When he gazed up again, her expression surprised him. Blair's eyes were narrowed in a perplex frown and Chuck felt completely unaware of the reasons behind it, since he had expected an enthusiastic reaction from her. Instead, his wife was staring at him in silence.

He sighed. "Staying at the Empire we had hotel's security and, although it was hardly adequate, at least it was something. Now that we don't live there anymore we are completely unprotected," he kept on, hoping that explaining his motivations would have changed the way she was still looking at him with a surely not thrilled face. "It's not safe, Blair."

She briefly closed her eyes, pursing her lips. "So, let me understand," she pulled away from him, freeing her hand from his grip. "You've established that I should have bodyguards and didn't think that I had to be at least involved in this decision?" she stood up and crossed her arms, placing herself in front of him and glaring at him with plain indignation. "Don't you think that my opinion on this is as important as yours?"

Utterly floored by that question and the accusation which it implied (that he didn't consider her judgment equally valid), Chuck blinked. "Of course it is," he answered, unable to contain a hint of offence in his tone. "But this isn't really about opinions, Blair. It's something that has to be done, whether you like it or not."

He hesitated; the angry expression with which she was staring at him was completely incomprehensible to Chuck and that fact that he couldn't give a meaning to the way she was acting made him feel nervous. He wasn't used to not be able to understand her. He heavily breathed in and took his eyes off of her to fix them on the floor. "Honestly, after everything we've been through, I thought you'd be happy of this choice."

Thinking about their still too recent – and also not so recent - history, he had genuinely supposed that not only she would have approved his decision, but that she would have also felt relieved, considering the way she was constantly worrying about him when he was out of town for business.

Not later than two days ago, flying back from Los Angeles, the jet had landed with a couple of hours of delay and she had come to the point where she had called him more than ten times, each call filled up with more anxiety than the previous one; Chuck had eventually arrived home to an overly agitated Blair and found himself incapable of calming her down properly, realizing that the reassuring words coming out of his mouth were, as a matter of fact, just words.

He couldn't _really_ promise her that he wasn't in danger, simply because he couldn't be sure of it. She had all the rights to feel scared, her worries weren't irrational, they had a foundation; he himself never felt secure and, also, the thought that could have happened to her _because of him_ never missed to haunt him and make him feel powerless other than guilty.

Although he had been thinking about it for quite a while, the fear in her eyes had finally convinced him that hiring security guards was simply the reasonable thing to do.

"Well, I am not!" she burst out, shaking him from his thoughts. She gave him a hostile look, before turning. "I will not let you impose me anything, _Charles_," she pronounced his name in a higher, acuter voice. "And I surely won't have your gorillas following me around."

"Blair, you're being unreasonable." Even if he couldn't see her face, he knew that his affirmation had surely made her temper worse, because he distinctly saw her shoulders raising and lowering faster, as her breathing accelerated. "You need to understand that in my position it is irresponsible not to take these measures. Being my wife, you are as exposed as I am."

She swiftly turned to face him and looked daggers at him. "Your position? Are you even listening to yourself?" she let out a clearly sarcastic laugh. "Your ego truly knows no limits."

Still sitting on the bed, Chuck stiffened and breathed in, trying not to lose his patience at her purposely offensive words. "Yes, Blair, my position," he hissed, his voice turning sharper as he felt rage raising. "And if you weren't acting like a child you would understand what I mean and that it has nothing to do with my ego," he closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again, to give her a firm stare. "It's decided; I will not change my mind."

"And I won't either!" she shouted, moving a few steps in his direction. "You can do whatever you want, hire an entire private army for yourself if you think it is necessary, but don't you dare thinking that you can control me."

That statement hit him like a punch and he clenched his fist in a transport of anger. "Control you?" he asked almost in a whisper and, although he had tried to keep a cold tone, the words came out full of resentment. He stood up and rapidly approached her. "Do you think this is the reason why I'm doing this?"

Blair didn't answer right away; Chuck saw her lips trembling under his look, as if she was having an hard time holding up his gaze. She swallowed, but she still kept her eyes on him.

"Absolutely," she stubbornly said after a few seconds. "It's not like you don't have people followed all the time," she raised her eyebrows at him, assuming a provocative pose. "And files on them."

"But not on _my wife._" The thought that Blair could seriously believe that he was putting her on the same level as all the people he didn't respect and trust hurt him deeply. He stepped back, feeling the physical need to create some distance between them. "You should know that I would never disrespect you like that and even just the fact that this idea came to your mind is frankly insulting."

"Wouldn't you?" she obstinately answered back. "You're already making decisions about my life, after all."

Chuck gave her one last outraged look and then glanced down, lightly shaking his head. Refusing to look at her, he walked to the clothes valet, where his jacket was still hanged; he grabbed it and quickly put it on. The sound of Blair's heels tapping rapidly on the floor told him that she had reached him. He intensely breathed in to cool off and gain back his composure before turning around to face her.

"I am not," he stated coldly. "I am just trying to be a responsible person, but if this is really the opinion you have about me, then I'm done fighting with you, Blair." He buttoned up the suit and then raised his gaze on her. "We will discuss this again when you'll decide not to be so immature."

Noticing the angry tears that had filled Blair's eyes, Chuck glanced down; as infuriated as he was, no matter how offended and upset he felt by the way she had misjudged him, he still couldn't bear to see her crying. He turned his back on her and waked towards the door.

Blair followed him. "Where do you think you're going?" she yelled, grabbing his arm and pulling it to force him into facing her again.

"The office," he said, still without looking at her. His voice had become even lower and somehow rigid, detached. "I won't attend brunch, you can go alone. Please," he ran a hand through his hair, keeping the eyes fixed on the ground. "Apologize to Lily for my absence and tell her I'll call her tomorrow. I will see you later."

Chuck turned again and walked through the door, feeling Blair's stare on him as he stepped out of the room.

* * *

"Honestly, Blair," said Serena, rotating her hands in the air to accompany the confused frown on her face. "I don't really understand why you're_ so _angry," she grabbed a pistachio macaroon from the tray where the pastries were served and took a bite. "I mean, I get that you can't stand the fact that he didn't ask your opinion, but, as much as I hate to admit it, I think he's right."

Blair rolled her eyes. "He_ isn't_," she stubbornly stated, her voice reaching an higher tone as she gave her best friend an obstinate look. "He's being paranoid, it's different."

They were curled up on the couch, in the living room of Blair's penthouse (Serena had recently moved back there, tired of staying with her mother – and father, since him and Lily were, in fact, back living together – but still not ready to share Dan's place with him), where they had gone after leaving the Van Der Woodsen's apartment.

The brunch had been absolutely frustrating for Blair; she had spent the entire time trying to keep her impeccable façade, not to show any trace of the anger she hadn't been able to relieve herself from.

When she had arrived alone and Lily had questioned about Chuck's absence, complaining because she hadn't gotten the chance to see him before leaving for her trip with William, Blair had really struggled to accompany her words with a bright smile.

"He apologizes," she had told her, making an effort to maintain her voice calm and harmonious. "Something urgent came up and he had to stop by the office, but he said he'll call you tomorrow. I'm sure he will invite you for lunch and you two will have all the time to catch up before you leave."

Having known her mother-in-law ever since she was a kid and being well aware of the fact that she was a definitely perceptive person, Blair had understood that she hadn't bought her excuse and the skeptical look the woman had reserved her had made it pretty clear. However, out of manners, Lily had simply smiled and made a comment about how "_Charles_" wasn't supposed to "_stress himself so much_".

The tone full of care with which she had pronounced those words had made Blair even more nervous; Chuck still hadn't called her to apologize for dismissing her in the middle of an argument – after having defined her _childish_ and _immature_ – and hearing someone talking about him in such a loving way had made her think, once again, about how much she hated him for being a passive-aggressive _asshole_.

Anyway, realizing that Lily was giving her a way out, Blair had kept the grin on her face. "He really shouldn't," she had agreed, using her sweetest voice. "Actually, I was considering to propose him a relaxing weekend somewhere. Where are you and William going, again?"

After sixty minutes, that Lily had spent talking in details about the vacation she had planned, Serena, who had been suspiciously eyeing Blair for the whole time, surely noticing her rigid, fake attitude, had finally approached her and suggested to leave.

"We can stop by to pick up some macaroons from _Ladurée_ and then head to the attic," she had offered. "We'll have a nice time and you can also tell me what you and Chuck are fighting about."

Blair had decided that she was too angry to deny it and, not willing to come back home, she had accepted the invitation. Unfortunately, after having spent two hours ranting about her husband to a very perplexed Serena, Blair had given up to the fact that her best friend just couldn't understand the seriousness of the situation, since she refused to see how wrong _Chuck _was and, instead, how many reasons to be furious _she_ had.

"I don't think he is," Serena indeed contradicted her. "And neither do you," she pointed her index finger at Blair, who arched her eyebrows in an incredulous expression. "You are always so anxious when he's away," Serena explained, gesticulating to give more credibility to her point. "When was it that you totally freaked out just because his flight was late?" she asked. "Last week?"

Blair blinked and her mouth opened in surprise, assuming the shape of a small circle. "That was two days ago," she closed her eyes and lightly shook her head "And it's beside the point, S!" she raised a hand and moved it in a dismissing wave, as if she was trying to shoo Serena's words away, so that she could ignore them. "And even if, _hypothetically_, he was right about _him_ needing bodyguards," pronouncing the word "_right_" her voice assumed a derisive shade, "He still had _no_ right to try to impose _me _the same measures."

"If he does need them, as constraining as it may be, then you need them too," the blonde commented, raising her eyebrows at Blair, who was reaching for a macaroon and doing her best to pretend not to listen. "It is only logical, B."

Blair glanced up from the silver tray and glared at her. "Serena," she articulated the letters sharply, in a clearly admonishing way. "He said '_Whether you like it or not_', as if I had no possibility to make an objection." Remembering his words, she felt irritation flushing her cheeks again and she gave vent to the ire by aggressively biting the light green pastry she was holding in her hand. "It's unacceptable."

"And I agree with you," Serena rushed to say, careful not to aggravate her best friend's already dangerous temper. "His approach was wrong and he had to involve you in the decision, but it doesn't change the fact that he has a point."

Blair grumbled, making a mocking sound and rolled her eyes, as she proceeded to grab another macaroon.

Serena sighed. "Look, even mom has been begging him to hire security for years, but he's always refused." At that revelation Blair's eyes immediately focused on her best friend; she stared at her with a both confused and curious expression, silently asking her to keep on. "You know," Serena lowered her gaze and bit her lip, something that Blair knew she did every time she had to say something but didn't know how to. "She got pretty scared after Prague."

Blair gasped; as soon as Serena raised her eyes back on her, giving her a worried look, she glanced down, feeling a shiver down her spine. Her best friend had just brought up one of the many things she had been trying not to think about ever since Chuck had communicated her his intentions, because it would have obligated her to admit that he was indeed right.

She vigorously shook her head to drive those thoughts away from her mind and sighed as well. "He may be right, Serena, but he remains an asshole," she kept on, bringing back her gaze on the blonde. "He dismissed me! He called me childish and immature and then he just left, as if he didn't care," she vented and a pinch of irascibility made her voice trembling and acute. "He doesn't even show anger, he just turns emotionless and stiff as a stone and refuses to speak to me!"

It was the one thing she maybe hated the most about him, she decided again in that moment: the way he turned cold and distant when they argued. While rage tended to cause her to yell and move frenetically, Chuck's typical reaction was to build up invisible walls and to stop talking, which usually ended up making her hit the roof.

She knew him well enough to understand that he cared and that he was generally at least as heated as her, but his displayed indifference – and his ability to maintain such a detachment and control – was sincerely frustrating and, for Blair, provoking.

Serena wrinkled her eyebrows at Blair's words. "That doesn't sound like Chuck," she remarked, bowing her head on one side and gazing at Blair with an uncertain expression. "He may be touchy and peevish, but he wouldn't leave you in the middle of a fight without a reason."

Blair pursed her lips. "Oh, trust me," she affirmed, glancing away from Serena. "It's exactly like him." She grabbed a pillow and placed in on her lap, nervously drumming her fingers on the fabric.

"Blair," Serena tried to get her attention back, skeptically eyeing her. "Is there something you didn't tell me?"

Blair didn't answer; she started looking around instead, focusing her eyes on anything that wasn't her best friend's stare. She heard Serena huffing and, although she was refusing to meet her gaze, which was still unpleasantly fixed on her, she knew that the blonde had assumed that slightly annoyed pose she used when she was starting to get bothered by Blair's supposed denial.

"Blair," Serena called her again. "Come on."

Blair snorted. "Fine!" she exasperatedly uttered, rolling her eyes at Serena. "I may have accused him of trying to control me," she muttered. "And making decisions about my life."

"Blair!" Serena exclaimed, opening her eyes wide. She looked at Blair with plain surprise and a bit of accusation in her stare.

"What?" Blair burst out, glancing up for a moment. "I was angry, Serena," she then justified herself, lowering her gaze again. "I wasn't thinking straight." She deeply breathed in and then turned silent, keeping on torturing the pillow she was still holding.

"I know you probably won't listen to me," Serena quietly said after a while and Blair immediately glanced up, raising her eyebrows in a distrustful way. "But you should apologize."

"I will not do such a thing!" Blair answered straightaway, as an offended scowl formed on her face. "He's the one who needs to apologize."

She obstinately crossed her arms. The idea of putting aside her pride and say sorry first went against everything she had promised herself she wouldn't have done when she had seen him walking out the door and leaving her there, standing in the middle of their bedroom; she had sworn that she wasn't going to forgive him so easily for his annoyingly dictating, disrespectful behavior.

But she had been disrespectful herself. Thinking back to the accusations she had made against him, now that Chuck wasn't there and that a few hours had passed since when she had blurted them out in front of him, in what had been an obvious – and, sadly, she realized now, successful – attempt to hurt him as much as he had offended her, they sounded absolutely ridiculous.

She had regretted them immediately, actually, in the moment the words had left her mouth, but she had been so overcome by rage that she hadn't been able to stop herself from hitting him where she knew he was vulnerable.

Although Chuck could be a rather intimidating person and had no qualms about using all of his means to make sure he had everything – and everyone – under control, the relationships with his loved ones where strictly based on trust; he was an exceptionally loyal and respectful person with that restricted group of people and Blair knew that her claiming that he had treated her like he treated the rest of the world must have insulted him deeply.

Serena shook her head. "It looks like you've both said and done things you didn't mean."

Blair's angry expression softened and changed into a sad pout. She hated him; she hated him for being an arrogant, extremely touchy, stubborn idiot - too accustomed to rule and be domineering that he sometimes forgot not to use those ways with her - but, most of all, she hated him because she couldn't bear the thought of him suffering for something she had inconsiderately said, with the only purpose of making him feel bad. The heavy sense of guilt weighting on her chest was far stronger than her usually inflexible aversion to admit that she was wrong.

"I don't like when you speak wisely, S," she heaved a sigh, as Serena rolled her eyes at her. "I sounds wrong; it's against the natural order of things."

* * *

When Blair crossed the doorstep to the townhouse it was already late afternoon. It had taken her several hours to finally get home, a time that she had spent brooding over their argument and doing everything she could think of to postpone the moment she would have had to come back, aware that he was surely waiting for her and somehow scared to face him, to look into his eyes and meet a glimpse of resentment in his dark gaze.

She held her breath when Chuck's scent reached her nostrils, giving her the confirm that he was indeed there. He used to wear so much cologne that he always left a trail of perfume behind him; whenever he arrived before her, she could always tell that he was home from the way the foyer smelled of _Fahrenheit _**[1]**, an irrefutable proof of his passage.

She felt a brief sensation of relief warming up her chest at the realization that he was close to her, in their house, and a tiny, unconscious smile bent the corner of her lips. She suddenly felt the impellent need to see him, to talk to him and make sure he knew that she didn't mean a single thing she had said during the fight and her body naturally guided her to the stairs. She rapidly climbed them and stopped on the last step, which separated her from the living room.

Blair found him there, sitting on the sofa with his back turned to staircase, and, even though he couldn't see her, she understood that he had still become aware of her presence when she heard him sighing heavily and noticed his hand slightly moving on the couch's armrest where he had rested it, in a physical reaction to her arrival, as if he had wanted to stand up and greet her, but forced himself not to instead.

Chuck didn't turn to let his eyes meet her figure and Blair hesitated, tensely curling her fingers around the handrail. Somehow, even if she could only spot his shoulders and the nape of his neck, she was still able to recognize his rigid posture and distinguish the nearly inaudible sound of his fingers tapping on the crystal glass he was surely holding.

"You're back," Blair realized she had closed her eyes only in the moment her eyelids snap opened, responding to his low, deep voice. "I was waiting for you," he paused and his silence forced her to finally climb the step and walk slowly towards him. "You didn't call."

Something in his tone was surprisingly different from what she had imagined it to be at that point. It didn't display anger or let coldness show through. It was flat; there was a gloomy note in the sound of his words and in the way he had pronounced them slowly, as if he was actually making an effort to speak.

Blair came around the couch and placed herself in front of him, staring at him, as her eyes focused on the details of his expression, on the intensely pensive frown darkening his features and on the way his lips missed the innate, unconscious half smirk they were usually curved into.

His gaze stayed firm on the amber liquid filling the glass squeezed in his hand for a second more, before he slowly guided it to his mouth and took a small sip; that somehow automatic gesture made it easier for him to maintain his intent not to look at her.

Blair sighed. "I knew I would have found you at home," she said. "And I knew that you wouldn't have answered me."

It was a conciliating reply, that she had pronounced in a purposely guilty, sweet voice, but she knew that he had still definitely perceived in her tone the traces of frustration undeniably revealing the irritation she felt at the idea of apologizing.

She noticed his lips puckering a little, as he tried to hold back a vague smirk, probably arisen from the irrepressible - even through his clear bitterness – pleasure he must have felt at her statement, conscious of what a rare occurrence seeing her going against her pride was.

"You're right," he eventually glanced up on her and Blair feebly smiled, unable to keep herself from feeling a pinch of satisfaction given by the awareness that she knew him so well to be always able to predict his behavior. "I wouldn't have."

Still, as his eyes fixed on hers with more insistence, she couldn't help but look down. "Chuck —"

"The things you said about me trying to control you," he interrupted her right away, obligating her to raise her eyes back on him. He guided his free hand to his clenched jaw and started to rub it tensely. "Do you really mean them?" he asked. "Do I make you feel like that, Blair?"

Although he had started speaking with a deliberately brusque tone, at some point between his questions that sharpness had diminished in a low, unsteady pitch, exposing an ill-concealed deep end of fear when he had pronounced her name.

Blair felt her eyes filling up with tears and she briefly shut the eyelashes to push them back; the thought of having hurt him made her heart ache.

"No," she immediately said, sitting down next to him. "No, you don't." She slowly slid on the couch to get closer and cautiously curled her fingers around his wrist, lightly stroking it with the index. "You make me feel respected and free, every day."

Blair felt his arm stiffening at her touch. "But you sounded pretty sure of what you accused me of." He inhaled a deep breath and moved his hand, freeing it from her grip with the excuse of drinking another bit of scotch. Swallowing the liquor, he lowered his gaze.

The way he had immediately gone on the defensive, refusing physical contact and denying her words, made her realize that he was scared. Blair knew that the things she had said had caused him to doubt his capability to make her happy, to be a good husband for her, and she was also conscious of how that thought deeply frightened him. It was something so typical of him; since fear was an unacceptable feeling to Chuck, he repressed it as much as he could and turned harsh instead.

"I really didn't mean it," she assured him and delicately reached for his hand again. "I know you would never try to control me. You're not that kind of man, not with me."

Although he kept his eyes on the floor, her words convinced him to stop fighting against her touch and he let her take the glass he was still holding; she grabbed it and placed it on the cofee table in front of the couch before bringing her hand on his again and weaving their fingers together.

"I lost my temper, Chuck," she tried to explain. "You know how I can't stand when things get me by surprise. You had never mentioned the intention to hire security guards before and I felt excluded."

He stayed still for a few seconds and then he moved on the sofa, turning in her direction and eliminating that bit of distance he had created between them. "I didn't mean to exclude you," he said, glancing up on her again. His voice sounded a bit calmer and Blair felt relieved to meet his gaze, finding a softer light in its darkness. "The only reason why I didn't tell you sooner is that I sincerely wanted to surprise you. I know how anxious you always are and I thought that this would have made you feel better."

"I know," Blair nodded and a small smile formed on her lips. "But it's something that we should have discussed first. It's a decision that affects both of our lives."

Chuck sighed. "It does, but I don't think it's arguable, Blair," he said, calmly but not less firmly than when he had told her the same thing that morning. He lifted his free hand from the armrest and guided it to her shoulder; he squeezed it with strength, in a protective gesture. "I'm afraid that it isn't a choice, it's a necessity," he grazed directly into her eyes. "Do you understand why?"

Something in his tone, a shaky note behind the inflexibility which had accompanied his words, told her that he was having an hard time talking about that topic. Blair didn't need him to explain what he was referring to, though; she perfectly understood.

Deep inside, to be honest with herself, she had known that he was just being rational and reasonable all along, but she had been so angry at him for excluding her from a decision concerning both of them that she had forced herself to keep away from her mind the memories of all the occasions when she had risked to lose him for good over the years, both as a consequence of the lack of love for himself he used to struggle with and because of the people who had deliberately tried to hurt him – and her, using their relationship and love as a mean to threaten him.

The most recent ones - which were also probably the scariest and the most painful - still terrorized her and she knew that agreeing on the fact that they did need personal security would have also implied admitting that something as dangerous could have happened again and that she had absolutely no control over it. As irrational as it was, Blair felt that it was _her _responsibility to make sure Chuck was safe and accepting that she wasn't enough, that she couldn't protect him from everything, from the risks that occupying such a position of power implied, wasn't a tolerable idea for her.

"I do," she answered weakly. "I just hate that it makes me feel powerless." Admitting it out of loud lightened the weight on her chest, as she allowed herself to be honest with him about what was her true problem with his decision.

Chuck slightly nodded in response. "I feel the same," he confessed her, lowering his gaze for a moment before glancing up again and fixing his eyes on her. "We got overcome by rage earlier and I didn't get the chance to explain myself, so let me."

He breathed in and Blair saw him struggling for a moment to find the words, something that never missed to make her lips bend in a tender smile, since she knew how he preferred not having to say anything and trust instead her always profound knowledge of his thoughts and emotions.

"I can't bear the thought that something could happen to you because I'm being irresponsible by not considering the risks and not guaranteeing us safety at the peak of my possibilities. I am your husband, I have to protect you." He inhaled another deep breath. "And I have to protect myself," he added, lowering his tone as if he was somehow less secure of his words. "I've been reckless for so long, Blair, because I simply didn't care about my life," his voice broke in a bitter laugh and he paused, shaking his head.

Blair's eyes unconsciously lowered; she rested them on his lower abdomen, right where she knew there was a scar, and her shoulders trembled, as she felt tears wetting her eyes again.

Sensing her fear, Chuck held her hand tighter; he moved the other one away from her shoulder and brought it to her chin, delicately lifting it up to make her raise her gaze back on him. "But I'm not that person anymore," he definitely declared, sounding confident and determined again. With his thumb he lightly stroked her cheek. "I'm building a life with you, I want to have a family with you and I just can't afford to be careless."

Under his stare, which had stayed focused on her eyes for the whole time, Blair felt, if possible, exposed and secure at the same time. The possibility of losing him, made clear by the fragments of past which that day had brought back to her mind, made her feel fragile, as much as the touch of his hands gave her a strong sense of stability and protection.

She took some seconds of silence to look at him, studying his both serious and secure expression; a flare of pride immediately made a spontaneous smile spread on her face and he smiled back, one of Chuck's tiny, almost imperceptible smiles that she loved.

"You're right," she reached for his hand still under his chin and insinuated her fingers between his. "I'm sorry I've been so difficult."

Chuck let go of her other hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer so that she could curl up next to him and place her head on his chest.

"It's okay," Blair raised his eyes on him just in time to spot a pleased smirk making appearance on his lips. "I haven't been so kind myself," he said anyway, gently caressing her shoulder by making his fingers go up and down on her skin. "I should have tried to give you a better explanation instead of being so imperative."

Blair suddenly frowned. "You've also called me childish," she reminded him, accuse and hilarity mixing in her voice. "And immature."

Chuck laughed softly, receiving a playful slap on his chest as response.

"Don't laugh, Bass," she commanded him, in her bossy tone. "You may have been right, but you're still going to be punished for that."

He gave her a mischievous look. "I'm looking forward to being tortured."

Her protests – "_You're such a pervert, Chuck!_"- got silenced by a deep kiss, with which he put a definitive end to their discussion.

The following day, first thing in the morning, they conducted interviews to select bodyguards together and, once she got used to the system, Blair found out that it really didn't bother her too much; "_It adds a certain aura of importance to my image, doesn't it?_" she proudly told Serena over brunch a month later, before turning to smile at her husband sitting next to her.

He was safe, she thought. They both were.

* * *

**Notes:**

**[1]** _Fahrenheit _is a cologne for men by Christian Dior. In 6X05 Bart recognizes it as Chuck's perfume.

**[2] **The idea for this one-shot came to my mind during the GG re-watch that I'm currently going through. I find rather absurd that Chuck never had bodyguards and it's crazy - at least to me - to think that he still won't after all that happened in the series finale, also considering that he will, indeed, take control of BI. People in his position usually take these measures. And, honestly, with everything that happened to him over the years, in my opinion, it's only logical that he will hire security.

**[3] **English is still not my language, I'm Italian. I apologize for possible mistakes.


	3. All The Small Things

All The Small Things:

Ever since she was barely a teenager, Blair had always spent, whenever possible, the Saturday morning with Serena. They had a precise ritual, which hadn't changed at all over the years; they always met early for breakfast at the same place and then enjoyed a few hours of shopping.

Cherishing traditions was essential to Blair and having respected once again this particular one had left her satisfied and relaxed; by the time she stepped into the foyer of her townhouse, around 11:30, she was in an excellent mood.

"Dorota!" Blair, with a joyful hint in her voice, called the maid out of loud, leaving the door opened behind her to allow the chauffeur, who was taking the bags from the trunk to carry them inside, to follow her. "I'm home!"

A few seconds later Dorota came rushing in from the kitchen's anteroom and approached her. "Miss Blair, did you have a nice morning?" she welcomed her employer, divesting her of her _Burberry_ cashmere coat. "How is Miss Serena?"

"A wonderful one, Dorota, thank you." With a bright smile, Blair removed her scarf and gloves and handed them to the maid, along with her purse. "Serena is okay. Humphrey asked her to move in with him; she's over the moon." The thought made her roll her eyes and she shrugged to get rid of it.

She smiled again. "Chuck isn't up yet, is he?" she asked casually, although she was pretty certain about the answer. She knew her husband was awake. He had texted her repeatedly during the last two hours, complaining about having woken up to an empty bed, but she had a feeling that he was still refusing to get up, waiting for her to keep her word and make it up to him – as the card she had carefully placed on her pillow before leaving promised.

"No," Dorota confirmed Blair's thoughts, as she hanged the coat on the hall-stand. "Valet Ivan brought him breakfast and newspapers, but Mr. Chuck still in bedroom."

"Great," Blair commented cheerfully. Dorota looked back at her straight faced and Blair, who was well aware of the woman's strict theory about how it was inadmissible to stay in bed past 8 am, sighed. "Oh, Dorota, let him be." As if she wanted to hide the tenderness softening her expression, she slightly turned her head to side and looked down, pushing a loosen curl behind her ear. "He'll be away for the next two weeks. He has the right to enjoy some peace."

The idea inevitably saddened Blair. Chuck was leaving the next day for a business trip to Tokyo and she couldn't be less happy about it. Determined not to let that irrational sense of melancholy ruin her perfect morning, she ignored Dorota's silent, judgmental stare and spun around, getting closer to the door to peek outside and see if her driver had finished unloading the outcome of her shopping.

She grinned satisfied at the man making his way up the stairs to the entrance. "Please, just leave them on the console table, Jacque," she instructed him on where to leave the bags once he was inside, knowing that he was used to bring them directly upstairs and that Chuck wouldn't have liked the intrusion. She then dismissed him, informing him that she wasn't going to need him again before Monday morning and that her assistant was going to send him an email with her detailed schedule.

As soon as he left, Blair stepped over to the console table, scanning the shopping bags. Her eyes immediately found the orange one she was looking for. Careful not to crease it, she picked it up and, observing it, an instinctive tiny smile rose on her lips; it had taken her almost an hour inside _Hermès_ to select the perfect tie for Chuck and she couldn't wait to give it to him.

Behind her, Dorota let out a sigh and, although Blair wasn't looking at her, she knew that it had been accompanied by rolling eyes and a head shake. "Is that for Mr. Chuck?"

The question, Blair noticed, was tinged with many sentiments – disapproval and a certain note of resignation above all – but surprise surely wasn't one of them. "Of course it is," Blair replied proudly, as she turned to face her stern looking maid. "I had to get him a present," she then explained in a sweeter, more affectionate tone; she lowered her eyes, unable to stop the corners of her mouth from tilting up in a new, wider smile. "I left him alone all morning."

"What a tragedy," Dorota scoffed, now vigorously shaking her head. "You treat Mr. Chuck like kid," she then uttered, pointing a finger at Blair. "You'll regret spoiling husband when honeymoon phase is over."

Blair's lips slightly parted, as an outraged expression took the place of the warm, loving one she had kept on her face till that moment. The housekeeper wasn't the first person to tell her that she was spoiling Chuck way too much; Serena had accused her of the exactly the same thing a couple of hours earlier, incredulous in front of Blair's decision to buy him a gift and quite exasperated by the explanation she had given her – "_I want him to know that not a single moment he was off my mind, S_."

Blair, out of distraction more than manners, had ignored her best friend's complaints, but that unequivocally untrue claim was really starting to bother her. She didn't spoil her husband at all, she convinced herself once again, folding her arms across her chest; she simply wanted to show him her love and appreciation.

"Enough with this nonsense," she therefore snapped, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Not that it's any of your business, but our anniversary is in three weeks; our honeymoon phase ended months ago, and up to this day there's not one single thing that I regret," she sharply declared with a provocative demeanor, a frown darkening her face. "And my husband is not spoiled!"

With that statement, Blair turned around and crossed the foyer to the stairs, leaving Dorota to look up at her as she made her way to the second and then the third floor, where the master bedroom was. The maid shook her head and sighed in resignation once more; her Miss Blair had always had a natural talent for denying even the most blatant truths.

* * *

"Still lounging in bed, I see," Chuck heard his wife's amused voice as she entered the bedroom and, glad to know she was finally back home, he smiled pleased behind the paper he was reading.

Although he was more than impatient to see her, he didn't lower it. He was going to make her work a bit to get his full attention, he decided in that moment, determined to let her know how unpleasant it had been waking up and not finding her by his side. He was well aware of Blair and Serena's Saturday morning ritual and, honestly, he knew he was being childish, but he had gotten used to Blair's way of waking him gently every morning and now, whenever she missed to do so, he couldn't help but feeling disappointed.

Sitting on the bed with his back rested against the headboard, Chuck shrugged and continued reading. "You were gone when I woke up," he replied, stressing the word '_gone_' in spite of the casual, distracted tone he had chosen to give to his voice. "Your card said '_I'll make it up to you, wait for me_'," he added with a sigh, "and that's exactly what I'm doing; I'm waiting."

Still pretending to be completely caught up in the article he had actually stopped paying attention to the moment she had walked in, Chuck welcomed every tap of Blair's heels on the parquet floor with growing desire, as she approached the bed. In a couple of seconds the sound of her footsteps stopped and he didn't need to look up to know that she was standing next to him.

"Well, I'm here now," she said gleefully, her voice gentle and somewhat indulgent, "your waiting is over." Chuck felt her curls skimming over the crook of his neck and tickle him when she leaned over to place a kiss on his cheek.

Before he could stop her, she had grasped his newspaper and pulled it away from his not so tight hold. He watched, charmed by her determination, as she accurately folded it and set it on the bedside table, before sitting down next to him, a grin spreading across her face.

Forced to meet her always captivating gaze, Chuck had to purse his lips to stop himself from cracking a smile. He sighed. "You know, I was actually trying to read that —"

He got silenced by Blair's lips, suddenly pressed against his. Unable to rebel against that contact, Chuck deepened the kiss; it soon became passionate, as he instinctively wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her onto his lap.

When they separated, Blair cupped his face, sliding her fingers along his cheek. "Oh! A smirk," she smiled softly, resting her index finger on the corner of his now obliquely curved lips. "I'm glad to see you've finally stopped sulking."

Chuck frowned slightly; in spite of the unconscious little smile she had promptly detected on his face, he still hadn't completely given up on his attempt to keep a dissatisfied air. "I don't sulk," he protested, a vague hint of offense in his serious tone.

Blair eyed him for a second. "You do sulk," she contradicted him, chuckling. She freed herself from his hold and turned to take off her shoes. "And quite often, I may add. You're the grumpiest person I know," she glanced over her shoulder to roll her eyes at him, "and the touchiest."

"I'm not," Chuck, his eyebrows wrinkled, put on an affronted expression, "I simply despise waking up to an empty bed."

Sighing, she shook her head. "Yes, Chuck, , I know" she commented amused. "You've already made it pretty clear in the nine texts you sent me while I was out."

Blair didn't sound annoyed at all, Chuck noticed; his wife seemed to be particularly thrilled by the situation instead, as if the fact that her absence had actually upset him delighted her somehow. A very content smirk was curling her lips and Chuck, intrigued and curious, attentively followed her with his gaze as she got up and walked over to the bed bench.

It was then that his attention was drawn by what was rested there. He immediately recognized the familiar bright orange shopping bag and, realizing that she had gotten him a gift, a clear smile – the one he had fought to repress till that moment – finally appeared on his face.

He couldn't honestly say that he was surprised, though; he was happy, for sure, but definitely not taken aback. Blair had made a habit of spoiling him in various ways since she had become his wife, and bringing him a present every time she went shopping was just one of them.

"I got you something," Blair uttered softly before he could say anything, a satisfied sparkle making her eyes brighter. "A little reminder that, no matter where I am, you're always the first thing in my head," she kept on as she paced back to the bed, bringing the gift with her. When she handed it to him, she was practically glowing.

Chuck, flattered not only by the gesture but also by her affectionate words, took the gift bag from her hands. "_Hermès_," he said in a whisper, as he gingerly opened the bag and extracted an equally orange box. Running a finger along the thin black ribbon tied around it, he looked up at Blair and smirked. "You do know how to please a man."

Blair shot him a mischievous glance. "No, not any man," she corrected him, as she sat down next to him; Chuck never averted his eyes from hers as she settled back by his side. "I know how to please you." She reached out to the end of the ribbon, pulling it to untie it, and opened the box.

Inside, laid on a cream tissue paper, there was a plum silk tie.

Chuck smiled at the sight of the piece she had selected for him. He picked up the tie from the box, studying its regular, elegant pattern with evident contentment; his wife had an exquisite taste, he thought, which, unequivocally, coincided with his. "You surely do," he told her, directing his gaze on her again. "It's beautiful."

Blair shyly glanced down for a moment. "It made me think of you."

Staring at her radiant expression, Chuck smiled. He delicately placed the tie back into the box and set it aside. He had never been good with words and he didn't quite know how to express that his gratitude went beyond the gift she had gotten him; so, when he whispered "_Thank you_" in her ear, sliding his arm across her shoulders and pulling her closer, he made sure to squeeze her tightly into his embrace, hoping that she would have understood that he felt thankful for every single thoughtful gesture and caring attention she dedicated him.

"I don't want you to leave tomorrow," about an hour later Blair broke their peaceful silence, her words barely murmured. They had spent what was left of the morning making love and they were now curled up under the duvet; Chuck had nestled her against him and she was lying partially on top of him, trapped in his arms.

Chuck gazed at her through his hooded eyelids. Blair's melancholic expression – closed eyes and a small, childish pout on her lips – evoked his empathy; he had been quite enthusiastic about this business trip and the closure of a particularly problematic deal, but the prospective of spending two weeks away from home felt, in the moment he caught that glimpse of sadness on his wife's face, less appealing than ever. "I'd much rather stay," he sighed, his hands slowly stroking her back and searching for a curl to capture and twirl around his fingers.

Blair let out a soft giggle. "Liar," she opened her eyes to give him an amused look. "It's not a credible answer, Bass. We both know you want to go." A tiny smile took the place of the pout she had showed till then, and Chuck felt himself smirking, always delighted by her ability to comprehend him. "I know it's important," she kept on, absentmindedly tracing circles on his bare chest with the tip of her index. "I'm just going to miss you. Two weeks are a long period and time seems to flow differently when we're apart: it never passes."

Chuck, understanding and recognizing that gloomy sensation of slowness and incompleteness, tightened his hold on her. "It will," he assured her, ducking his head to place a kiss on her temple.

Blair, inhaling a deep breath, nodded. Chuck watched her eyes closing as she relaxed in his arms. He felt relieved, realizing that, in spite of the vague sadness that had caught them, she still looked serene and satisfied. It was her that he was going to come home to – someone who truly loved him and missed his presence – and the thought left him completely aware of his luck.

He made sure they didn't leave their bedroom till the morning after, desirous to fully enjoy every moment they had together before being forced to such a long period of separation.

* * *

Ten days had passed since the last time Blair had seen her husband in person and, at this point, she was feeling quite miserable. Nothing about this situation was new to Blair, not the immense distance that divided them or the particularly limited time they had to talk; it was an aspect of their lives that she had willingly and reasonably accepted as the price to pay for success – and a thriving success was, indeed, what they both aspired to, other than an important ingredient for their happiness.

Being accustomed to this kind of circumstance, however, didn't make it any less unpleasant.

Blair missed Chuck terribly. She didn't simply miss his presence; she missed their habits and, as ridiculous as it might have sounded to anyone else's ears, she missed all the small things she used to do for him to show her devotion.

Delicately waking him in the morning and sparing him the annoyance of a ringing alarm, calling him at lunch time to ask about his day, waiting for him in the foyer whenever she got home before him in the evening with a glass of his scotch in hand, covering him with an extra blanket at night when, in his sleep, he whined about being cold; she usually sprinkled their days with these and many other loving cares – simple gestures that gave her a serene sense of belonging – and being unable to follow this routine was frustrating for her. She had been rather irritable ever since Chuck had left.

"_You miss spoiling Mr. Chuck_," Dorota, witty and insightful as usual, had given this meaning to her employer's impossible mood some days ago. Blair, who categorically refused to consider the situation in those terms, had dismissed the comment with a glare.

She did the same thing in that moment, when her maid, probably trying to figure out if she was still so grouchy, shot her an inquisitive glance while serving her breakfast.

"I explicitly asked _blueberries_, Dorota, not raspberries," Blair complained, looking down at the cup of yogurt and fruit parfait now laid on the breakfast table. She reached for the china teapot on the silvery tray and, cringing, she immediately let it go. "And this tea is scalding," she let out a sharp sigh, pursing her lips. "Do you want me to burn my palate?" she raised her eyes on the maid, frowning.

"Miss Blair, you asked both, and tea is as hot as usual." Dorota rolled her eyes. "You nervous because Mr. Chuck running late."

Blair scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous," she retorted, adjusting the beige cloth napkin on her lap – a perfect expedient to avoid the older woman's stare. "I'm not a petulant child, I know better than to be rigid when it comes to his schedule. He's not on vacation."

Dorota sighed resignedly and Blair was delighted to find out that her words had come out firm and harsh enough to put an end to the conversation.

Though, as the maid walked out of the room, Blair's gaze inevitably shifted on the laptop she had set in front of her, waiting for Chuck to be on Skype so that they could video chat. He had sent her a good morning text a couple of hours ago, letting her know that he was going to be online around 7 AM, but it was almost 7:30 and he still hadn't showed up.

His delay was actually starting to make her feel tense; she couldn't wait to see his face, to talk to him and to make sure he was okay. Trying to be patient, Blair turned her attention back to her breakfast and began to eat without particular enthusiasm.

She couldn't stop herself from glancing at the desktop every time she brought the teaspoon to her mouth, impatient to see the incoming call box appear. Her cup of yogurt was almost empty when it did. She rushed to answer and, after a moment, she found herself smiling as she saw Chuck staring back at her from the screen.

"You're late," she set the crystal cup aside and then brushed her fingers on the laptop screen, lightly, as if she wanted touch his cheek; aware that she couldn't, she sighed. "I was worried."

"I'm sorry," he justified himself. The little smirk on his lips faded just a little. "My last meeting lasted longer than I thought."

Blair realized that he must have just returned to the hotel; he was sitting on a couch in what she recognized to be the living room of his modern furnished suite, still fully dressed in a charcoal gray suit. "I figured," noticing his tired expression, she nodded sympathetically. "How was your day?"

It was already night in Tokyo. Behind the large, spotless windows of the room he was in, she could see that the sky was completely dark. Knowing that his day coming to its end when hers had yet to start felt strange. Blair hated that enormous time difference between them; it was a constant reminder of how far her was, and it conceded them only brief moments to catch up.

"Stressful," Chuck replied, taking off his jacket. "But successful regardless. How are you?" leaning back on the couch to make himself more comfortable, he smirked again, this time more evidently. "How much do you miss me today?"

Blair raised her eyebrows at him. "I'm perfectly fine," she said in a forced blasé tone, accompanying her words with a nonchalant shrug. "What makes you think that I miss you, exactly?"

Chuck chortled. "Your face," he explained, lips still oblique, as he loosened his impeccably knotted tie and then proceeded to unfasten the buttons of his dress shirt's collar.

Observing that sequence of gestures, Blair ended up wondering that she would have wanted to take care of that, to do it for him, like she used to whenever he got back home late. She couldn't help but pout – and betray her attempt to be playful and sarcastic about her blatant nostalgia.

Her wistful look didn't pass unnoticed by Chuck's attentive eyes. "You miss me a lot," he stated the obvious, empathizing his declaration with a rather dramatic sigh.

Blair rolled her eyes at him and his complacent air. Feeling herself blushing slightly, though, she lowered her gaze.

When she glanced up again, Chuck's smug smirk had softened in a warmer and more genuine smile. "I miss you too," he said and Blair had no doubts that he was sincere.

He would have looked just tired to someone who didn't know him as well as she did, but she could read what his always indefinite and cryptic expression let show through in a surprisingly clear way; it revealed a melancholic homesickness that made her lips curl in a both sad and tender smile.

"Just four more days, Chuck," she reminded him in a low voice.

Chuck answered with a weak nod and then asked about the plans she had for the day.

As she spoke, Blair could see his face becoming more peaceful; he had settled a pillow on the seat-back under his head and his expression was serene, as if the familiarity of that moment – listening to her as she talked about her schedule – had managed to make him feel closer to home.

It was with plain reluctance that, ten minutes after, he sighed. "I wish I could stay here longer, but unfortunately I still have some work to do," he told her, running a hand through his hair.

Blair eyed him for a second and a worried wrinkle appeared on her forehead. She shook her head a little. "I'd tell you not to stay up too late if I was naive enough to believe that there is even just one chance that you'll listen to me."

Chuck, who surely hadn't missed the undertone of concern in her bossy voice, laughed quietly. "Don't be nervous, Blair," he said, his notorious devilish smile back to bend his lips. "I'll be fine."

Noticing that he was enjoying her ill-concealed worry – she bet it flattered him somehow – Blair frowned. "Charles," she leaned in closer to the screen to give him a serious look, which, much to her dismay, caused his smirk to turn sharper and more pleased. "I'm serious. Get some rest," she sighed, hearing her voice becoming inevitably softer. "I know you're not sleeping enough."

Chuck stared at her for a long moment before shrugging. He wasn't going to admit that she was right – he was too proud for that, Blair thought – but, when he gazed at her, she recognized a tacit admission in his steady look. "I promise you I'll be fine," he repeated, this time calm and reassuring.

It was enough for her to let herself relax and show him a loving smile. When they ended the video chat Blair was relieved ("_Have a good day_," Chuck said, and, still annoyed by the time difference, she answered wishing him goodnight – "_Please, sleep_"), It had been a short call, but still heartwarming.

She finished her breakfast and headed to Waldorf Designs feeling a bit less nervous and looking forward to Skype again that night – during his lunch break. _Just four more days_, she told herself as she got ready to start working, hoping that they were going to pass as fast as possible.

* * *

Chuck sighed with relief when the limousine progressively started to slow down and then stopped in front of his townhouse. He was pretty tired from traveling and impatient to see his wife.

Waiting for Arthur to open the car door for him, he took a moment to stare at the elegant building from behind the darkened car window. He smiled. The lights were all on to remind him that there was someone waiting for him inside and a warm feeling of joy suddenly filled his chest.

Twenty minutes ago, when he had landed, he had called Blair to let her know that he was on his way home, and he expected her to be waiting for him in the foyer, ready to welcome him with a drink and a wide smile on her lips.

A few seconds later, with that pleasant image stuck in his mind, he slid out of the vehicle and rapidly walked to the entrance, leaving the driver and his bodyguard to take care of the suitcases.

His expectations weren't betrayed; as soon as he pushed the front door open, his eyes immediately found Blair, standing in the middle of the room.

Chuck barely had the time to catch a glimpse of her figure – she was wearing something red and she was indeed holding a glass of what seemed to be scotch – and delighted expression before she rushed over him and he instinctively did the same, eliminating the distance between them with a few rapid and impatient steps.

In a moment, his arms were tightly wrapped around her. He realized, the instant he got to hold her, how much he had missed her; he was longing for her, in the most needy and possessive sense of the word. He closed his eyes and, burying his face into the crook of her neck, he deeply breathed her in; he was finally home.

"Welcome back," she said, sliding her free hand over his coat covered shoulders up to the back of his head; delicately, her fingers started running through his hair.

"I've missed you," he murmured against her shoulder, his voice husky and eager. Before she could reply, Chuck lifted his head to capture her lips in an avid kiss.

It was a long, fervent one; he got lost in the pleasure of being close to her again – his hands firmly clutching her hips and her fingers grasping his hair – and, for a couple of minutes, the reality around them became indistinct.

It was only when they parted that he became aware of it again. His eyes focused on her face; she looked relieved and genuinely happy. Bringing her hand to his cheek to cup it, she smiled at him. "I'm so glad you're home," she said and promptly offered him the drink. "You look tired."

Chuck grabbed the glass with a thankful smirk. "Then I deserve special attentions," he raised his eyebrows at her. "Don't you think?"

Blair answered him by rolling her eyes. She glanced over his shoulder as he drained the scotch in a single sip and noticed that, although Chuck's luggage had been already brought upstairs while they were too busy greeting each to notice, his driver was still standing next to the closed door, waiting to be dismissed.

She smiled at him. "You can go, Arthur," she told him. Chuck shot her an interrogative glance, which she ignored. "And don't worry about coming tomorrow morning; Mr. Bass is taking a day off."

"Am I?" Chuck asked with a slight frown as he handed the coat to his valet, who had just entered the room. He had already decided to concede himself a day of vacation and the fact that his wife had predicted his intention was rather amusing – even though not unexpected.

Blair brought her eyes back on him. "Yes, you are," she said firmly, taking the now empty glass from his hand. "I wasn't joking, Chuck," she gently stroked his arm. "You really look exhausted."

Chuck was, indeed. Wondering that there was no point in denying it, he sighed and gave a nod to his driver, silently confirming his wife's words and allowing him to leave.

Once they were alone again, he casually wrapped a lazy arm around Blair's waist again and squeezed her hip. "I'll go freshen up, then," he told her, before placing a brief kiss on her cheek.

"Of course," a bright smile spread across her face as she ran a hand over his chest up to the collar of his shirt. "There's a hot bubble bath waiting for you upstairs, by the way," she reached the his tie knot under the cardigan he was wearing and carefully loosened it, glancing up to give him an affectionate look. "Take all the time you need."

This was, Chuck found out with great satisfaction, just the first of the extra cares Blair had actually decided that he needed. When he came out of the bathroom, half an hour later, she had already picked a warm velvet robe and pajamas for him, sparing him the effort of doing it himself.

A brief, intimate dinner was served shortly after. As they ate and talked, finally able to really catch up, Chuck never stopped looking for a physical contact; he was constantly reaching for her hand on the table to squeeze it. He had missed her so much that, now that he was with her, he couldn't help but indulging that sensation of completeness and fulfillment he felt by touching her.

After dinner they spent some time in the living room, enjoying a drink. It wasn't after long, however, that Blair insisted that they'd go upstairs to their bedroom, claiming that he needed sleep. Chuck didn't really look forward to get up from the couch where he was sitting, cuddling a particularly enthusiastic Monkey, but he did look forward to lie down, so he didn't object. He gave one last stroke to his dog and then tiredly followed his wife up the stairs to the third floor. They were in bed by ten.

Later, Blair, snuggled up in his embrace, sighed. He had become very quiet over the last ten minutes, hardly answering to what she said, but she knew he was still awake. His hold on her was still firm – he was almost clinging to her, actually, as if he needed to pull her closer to make it up for two weeks of nights spent in an empty bed – and his fingers were still toying with her hair absentmindedly.

She rolled in his arms, turning to face him. "You're not sleeping," she stated, resting a hand on the curve between his shoulder and neck and stroking it lightly.

"I can't," he replied, tilting his head on side, rubbing his cheek against her palm. "It's more or less noon to me, Blair."

Blair nodded. "I understand," she answered quietly. She started skimming her fingers over his chest in a relaxing way, barely touching the silk of his pajama while tracing imaginary lines.

"Dorota says I spoil you," she wondered after a while. That thought had been stuck in her mind for days; she was starting to acknowledge that it wasn't a completely unreasonable claim, but admitting it to herself – and, especially, to him – was much harder. "Do you think it's true?"

Chuck let out a chuckle. "What do you think?" he asked her. The amusement her question had brought with it was palpable even through his somnolent voice; the answer was clearly a yes.

"It's not funny, Bass," she protested when he laughed again. She suddenly stopped caressing his chest and gave him a playful slap instead. "I'm a Waldorf. We're tough women, we don't _spoil_."

"But you have no objections when it comes to being spoiled, right?" he pointed out and, even without looking at him, she was able to tell from the pleased sound of his voice that he had smirked.

Blair, knowing that there was an undeniable truth in his joke, didn't reply. Chuck adored spoiling her and he did it according to his mania of grandeur; he had spent those months they've been married lavishing gifts on her – all of them exclusive and splendid. He never denied her anything. Blair couldn't remember one single time he had told her no; in fact, most of the times, she didn't even have to ask.

She was silent for a minute. Sensing her pensiveness, Chuck squeezed her in his protective hug. "Blair, I've been spoiled all my life," he confessed her. "I've always been surrounded by people who did things for me because they had to. What you do is different. You don't just spoil me; you take care of me and you do it out of love." He paused, inhaling a deep breath. He reached for her hand still resting on his chest and brought it to his lips, kissing its back. "I feel loved," he affirmed. His words sounded heart-felt and honest. "You were the first person to make me feel like this."

The gratitude in his voice moved Blair. She sensed tears pricking her eyes and shut her eyelids to push them back. She had distinguished a needy note in his tone, a vague hint that confirmed, once again, what she felt every day; all the small attentions she dedicated to him were, in some ways, indispensable. To Chuck they meant more than he could explain; they were powerful reminders of her love, able to placate the surges of insecurity that often caught him.

She knew she was essential to him and the thought made her feel special and important. "And that will never change," she assured him. She covered the small distance between their faces and placed a light kiss on his lips. "I will always do my best to make you feel loved."

Chuck cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing circles on her smooth skin. Even in the darkness, now that she was this close, he could still vaguely see her expression, loving and sincere. He knew she was telling the truth; he believed her and trusted her like he had never trusted anyone.

"I love you," he simply answered, knowing that those three words would have always carried the meaning of everything he felt for her.

He fell asleep holding her as tight as he could, his nose sunk into her hair to inhale her scent. He was happier than he'd ever thought he could have been.

* * *

**Notes:**

**[1]** It's super fluffy. But I love the idea of Blair being a caring, maternal wife. In my head-canon she definitely is. I often say that Chuck is a needy person and Blair needs to feel needed; this is the idea behind this one-shot. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me and ask!

**[2]** In case someone is wondering, there were actually 14 hours of time difference between Chuck and Blair during part of this fic. I personally checked!

**[3]** English is not my first language, I'm Italian. I apologize for possible mistakes.

**[4****]** As usual, a big thank you to my dear Daphne (WeirdDaph on twitter) for correcting it and being very supportive.


	4. Triumph

**Triumph:**

Chuck Bass wasn't known for being a patient man. He was accustomed to getting what he wanted right after he demanded it – or, better, most of the times, he expected people to predict his requests and grant them before he could bother to ask.

The peculiar combination between being used to rule and being rather spoiled had indeed caused him to develop, ever since young age, a deep and passionate aversion to waiting – which was, according to his opinion, one of the many things that made him so successful.

As a consequence, Chuck had grown to consider delay extremely offensive. Although his usually very rigid politeness softened into a certain flexibility when it came to conceding himself the pleasure of being awaited for (he was convinced that being slightly late contributed to add a further air of importance to his already unapproachable persona), he did not tolerate such a behavior from other people.

This imperative, however, didn't apply to his wife. Blair was, as she was in almost every aspect of his life, an exception. She had always been able to bring out his most tenacious side; she was the one who had taught him the power of perseverance and the one person he didn't mind awaiting. No matter how long, he knew he would have waited for her – and he would have done it with surprising patience.

Usually, at least. In that moment, in fact, Chuck was reconsidering that conviction. It was taking her too long to get ready and he was starting to feel nervous; they were attending Bass Industries 30th anniversary gala and they couldn't be fashionably late. He actually wanted to be there early to be able to go through his speech one last time and make sure that everything had been arranged according to his instructions.

Chuck checked on the time on his vintage _Rolex_ once more and heaved a tensed sigh. There was still plenty of time, he told himself, straightening his already impeccably knotted and centered silk bowtie. He decided to pour himself a drink; enjoying some of the finest scotch would it made it easier to relax, he thought.

Celebrating Bass Industries always left him with mixed feelings; if, on one hand, he loved the thought of being praised for his achievements, on the other hand he couldn't keep himself from wondering if he was doing enough and, most importantly, well enough. Facts and rationality were sometimes weaker than his insecurity.

"Are you angry, dad?" Chuck was halfway to the bar when he heard his four years old son's tiny yet curious voice calling for him. He stopped and turned to see Henry staring at him from behind the backrest of the sofa he was curled up on, eyes narrowed to study his expression.

The corners of his lips tilted up in a smile. His son was incredibly similar to him in various ways, but that immediate perceptiveness and natural empathy were talents he had gotten from Blair.

"No, I'm not angry," Chuck explained, changing direction and crossing the living room to reach the couch instead. The drink he had decided to have was forgotten as he approached a skeptical looking Henry. "I'm just worried we'll be late. Your mom has many delightful qualities, but punctuality is definitely not her strong suit."

Henry eyed him for a moment. "Late for the party I'm not invited to?" he asked, his gaze rapidly shifting to the Lion King picture book opened on his lap. Waiting for the answer, he started leafing through the pages with a dissatisfied pout puckering his lips. He barely glanced up when his father sat down next to him.

Chuck, unbuttoning his black tuxedo jacket, sighed. Henry had spent all day protesting about his parents' decision to leave him at home with his nanny and Chuck felt bad about it to the point that, only a few hours earlier, he had nearly given up and agreed on letting him join them – and he surely would have, if Blair hadn't intervened to put an end to their son's tantrum. "Henry, you know it's not like that," he told him, doing his best not to sound as guilty as he felt. "It's a grown up event. Your mother and I will be very busy talking to many people; you'd get bored."

Henry closed the book. "That's so not true," he affirmed, raising his eyes on his father. "Uncle Nate will be there," he objected, frowning, stubborn about expressing his reasons once again. "And grandma Lily and aunt Serena and uncle Jack—"

"Henry Charles Nathaniel Bass," both Chuck and Henry turned their heads and looked up at the stairs, from where Blair had spoken. "You're not complaining, are you?"

Hearing his mother calling him by his full name had been a reason enough for Henry to stop fussing immediately, and Chuck found himself chortling at the thought that he had no chance to be that authoritarian. Two more minutes and Henry would have managed to convince him – again – that he was right.

"I'm not," Henry stated, as he turned back. "But dad is. He said you'll be late for the party because you can't be punctual."

When his son glanced at him, Chuck recognized in his expression the silent request to confirm his version. He smirked and, in response, he winked at him. "It's true," he indeed said, following his wife with his eyes as she came towards them. "Henry was just making a list of all the people we shouldn't keep waiting."

Blair, now standing in front of the sofa, rolled her eyes. It wasn't hard to understand that she didn't believe them, but her smile was the proof that she was determined to let go.

She shook her head and smiled. "We won't keep anyone waiting. As a matter of fact, we are abundantly early," sitting down next to them, Blair wrapped an arm around her husband's shoulders and gently stroked his arm. "Your dad is a bit agitated," she told Henry, although her gaze stayed fixed on Chuck, attentive and tender at the same time. "He shouldn't be, though, because we're celebrating his success tonight and it's something he's supposed to enjoy."

A thin smirk rose to Chuck's lips; she always knew what to say and when to. He reached for Blair's hand and, intertwining his fingers into hers in a silent gesture of gratitude, squeezed it lightly.

"Are you really sure I can't come with you?" Henry asked timidly, his eyes lowered. His pleading question trailed off with a small sigh and when, a second later, he looked up at Chuck, he was careful enough to show him the most desolated expression he managed.

A vague air of sadness suddenly darkened Chuck's face and Blair, knowing that it was the prelude to an indulgent answer, stopped him from replying with a warning glance. "Don't try to fool your father with that gloomy look, Hen," she interjected. "We've already discussed this; the party will end too late for you."

Henry huffed. "It's unfair," his begging expression had faded to be replaced by a vexed one, which he emphasized by crossing his arms, "I wanna hear dad's speech!"

"You've already heard his speech plenty of times," Blair said firmly, standing up. Chuck had written it more than a week ago and Henry had been making him repeat it at least twice a day ever since. "We all did," she added, rolling her eyes at a now slightly frowning Chuck. "I'm sure it hasn't changed a bit. I'm going to check if your dinner his ready and then we can go."

Chuck waited for his wife to disappear into the kitchen and then leaned over towards Henry, resting a hand on his pajama covered shoulder. "I'll make sure to have it filmed, so we can watch it together tomorrow," he promised to his sulky son. He reached out to his cheek, lightly stroking it with his thumb. "I'm sorry about tonight. But your mom is right, Henry; we can't take you with us."

The kid nodded slowly. The look of resignation on his face broke Chuck's heart a little; he hated disappointing him. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and, pulling him closer, he ruffled his hair. "You can ask Miriam for a cup of hot chocolate after dinner," he whispered into Henry's ear and he felt relieved when his son giggled in response. "We won't tell mom."

Blair returned into the room a few seconds later, finding them engaged in a deep conversation. Knowing that her husband had ended up promising something to feel better about leaving Henry at home, she shot them a suspicious look, which would have led to a consecutive question if she hadn't met Chuck's gaze. His stare was silently asking her to pretend she hadn't noticed anything, so she limited herself to let out an unusually compliant sigh; she didn't have the heart to ruin that moment.

Ten minutes later they had said goodbye to their son and were ready to leave. Chuck, finally able to look upon his wife without distractions, let his eyes go back up her figure as he adjusted his coat, taking in every detail of her attire.

He knew the dress she was wearing very well, for the simple fact that he had purchased it for her. It was an _Oscar de la Renta_ floor-sweeping gown that had been custom made appositely for this occasion, other than one of her birthday gifts – just one of the presents he used to give her during the month preceding her actual birthday, which was in a week.

Blair looked beyond fabulous wrapped in that violet silk organza and dark purple tulle, and Chuck, stunned by his natural elegance and gracious sensuality, was overwhelmed by a sudden surge of jealousy. He knew he would have had just a little time to spend with her that night and the thought of sharing her with a crowded room deeply disturbed him; he didn't want anyone to look at her the way he was looking at her now, unable to avert his eyes from her beauty.

He rapidly paced towards her and embraced her from behind, his arms tight around her waist.

When Blair glanced over her shoulder to give him a quizzical look, Chuck smirked. "You're too beautiful," he affirmed to explain the abrupt hug and the way he was still squeezing her hips. "I want you all for myself."

Blair, lightly shaking her head, giggled. She reached out cupping his cheek and silenced him with a brief kiss. "You know I am already yours," she said and Chuck's smirk became sharper when he noticed her playful expression; she was enjoying his jealousy. "There's no need to be so possessive."

There was, Chuck mentally contradicted her. She would have drawn everyone's attention and the idea forced to tighten his hold on her, which made Blair laugh softly again, pleased and amused in equal measure. Still, aware that they had to leave, he didn't reply. He took the coat still folded on her arm and, chivalrously, he helped her to put it on. It was going to be a long night, he thought, as, arm in arm, they walked out of the townhouse to the limousine waiting for them in front of the building.

* * *

"It's very rude not to pay attention to your interlocutor, nephew," Jack's ironic and always vaguely tinged with boredom voice reached Chuck's ears weak and distant as an echo, although his uncle was sitting just besides him. The words, however, failed to make him look away from the dance floor of the Palace Hotel's ballroom, which he had been staring at over the last couple of minutes, narrowed eyes and a deeply alert frown.

There, stunning in her lavish gown, Blair was dancing with Brian Richards, one Chuck's business associates. She seemed to be having fun, he detected with a pinch of peeve; she had a thrilled expression as she let the man lead her to the sound of a whirling Viennese waltz.

Chuck already disliked Richards for a fair number of reasons – a certain insufferable arrogance combined with a not particularly bright mind above all – but, at the moment, what bothered him the most about him was the fact that he was making _his_ wife twirl across _his_ dance floor at _his_ party.

Chuck hadn't been able to prevent it from happening. He had watched the man asking Blair for a dance from the other side of the room, as he tried to come back to their table after his speech, making his way through people who wanted to shake his hand and congratulate him. When he had finally managed to, Blair, as well-mannered as she was, had already accepted the offer, leaving him to sit there with the only company of his uncle.

"I may deduce from your distraction that you don't care about my compliments," Jack concluded, forcing Chuck to give him some consideration. He had been accused of many things in his life, rightfully so or not, but discourtesy was something he had rarely been guilty of.

"I'm glad that you liked the speech," he, therefore replied, letting the older man know he had listened to what he had said; his gaze, thought, stayed fixed on Blair and her dancing partner. "You're welcome, by the way. I'm aware that expressing gratitude is though on your ego, so I'll spare you the effort of thanking me for mentioning you."

The tone of the answer, in spite of the witty, self-satisfied words, didn't turn out as smug as it was intended to be. Chuck had spoken slowly and absent-mindedly, and his unusual lack of interest showing superiority didn't go unnoticed.

Jack, in fact, caught it immediately. "Please," he snorted. "You're too preoccupied with the fact that your wife has found someone to dance with to appreciate my attempt to say something nice."

The sardonic remark managed to make Chuck shift his eyes from the center of the oval-shaped room and turn his head in time to see a sneering smirk appear on his uncle's face. "Who Blair chooses to dance with does not concern you," he said, sharp and rigid as his expression. "She's enjoying the party; you should probably find a socialite to entertain and do the same."

"Believe me," Jack, visibly amused, snickered, "watching you wallowing in your jealousy is much more fun."

Chuck silently glared at him over his drink – a flute of bland Champagne, that he would have gladly replaced with a stronger, definitely more pleasant glass single-malt.

The only thing that stopped him from demanding a waiter to bring him one was the end of the song. Chuck welcomed it with a smirk. "Well, you'll have to find another way to amuse yourself, Jack," he told his uncle, before draining his Champagne in one gulp.

He didn't give him a chance to reply; he quickly stood up and, adjusting his jacket as he turned, he started pacing to the dance floor where his wife stood, impatient, to use an euphemism, to join her before anyone else could ask her to dance.

He was supposed to be talking to his guests, he knew it, but he couldn't stand the thought of seeing another man's hand touching her waist. The mere idea of witnessing another similar scene made his lips purse and his steps become faster. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, trapping her in the tightest embrace, and kiss her deeply in front of everyone, to show them that they couldn't have her, because he was the one she belonged to. At the same time, an opposite but equally powerful need was rapidly driving him towards her. He wanted to hide her; he wanted to take her home, away from all these people's eyes, and make love to her.

When Chuck, a bit breathless despite his always composed posture, reached her, Blair was smiling at something Richards had said. They both seemed to be unaware of his presence. He nervously clenched his jaw and cleared his throat to announce himself.

Blair immediately turned. "Chuck," she beamed at him and moved to his side, sliding an arm through his. "Mr. Richards was just talking about you," she said cheerfully.

Chuck eyed her for a second. He couldn't quite decipher her expression; there was something shady and mysterious in her gracious smile and her cheeks were a little flushed.

"It's true, Mr. Bass," Chuck reluctantly diverted his narrowed eyes from his wife to bring them on the man standing in front of him. If he hadn't been too focused on the many ways this circumstance was bothering him, he would have surely appreciated the way the guy had slightly bowed his head in an unconscious sign of reverence and uneasiness. "Beautiful speech," he outstretched his arm, waiting for Chuck to shake his hand, "I don't find it hard believing that your wife is such an inspiration for you," he said, talking about the way Chuck had thanked his family and especially Blair for supporting him. "She's truly a marvel."

"Thank you," Chuck shook the man's hand firmly – maybe a tad too firmly . "She is indeed," he slid an arm around Blair's waist. "And, as you've probably noticed, an excellent dancer."

He pulled her closer, his palm lightly squeezing her side, hoping that she would have understood the subtext in his words; he was the one she was supposed to dance with and he fully expected her to ask him to lead her through the next song.

But Blair didn't. Instead, she grinned at the man. "Not as good as you, Brian," she said in a tone that, to Chuck's ears, sounded rather coquettish; he hated the fact that she had called him by his name. "I would love to dance again."

Feeling her freeing herself from his hold, Chuck couldn't help but frowning. Taken aback by her unpredicted answer and behavior, though, he didn't do anything to hold her when she decided to move a step away from him.

"With pleasure, Mrs. Bass," Richards replied. "If Mr. Bass has no objections, of course," he added, glancing at Chuck with an unsure expression.

At that point, obligated by etiquette and by the context, Chuck couldn't do anything but force a smile. "Not at all," he said, although he was sure that his wife had understood by the cold tone of his voice that he did have objections – and many. "Enjoy then," he told her, leaning down to place a brief kiss on her cheek. "I'll be at the table."

Blair nodded and smiled at him, which, if possible, managed to insult Chuck even more; either she hadn't noticed the disappointment in his eyes, or she had spotted it but still decided to ignore it. He left the dance floor feeling both hurt and disrespected.

* * *

By the time they left the party, Chuck had spent enough time pondering over what had happened that the hurt and the feeling of disrespect had ended up merging and turning into cold, passive anger.

The ride home was spent almost completely in silence. Blair made a couple of comments about the party, to which Chuck answered in monosyllables, staring out of the car window. He felt her gaze fixed on him, as if she was trying to study him and give a meaning to his detached quietness, but he obstinately refused to turn his head and meet it.

His instinct would have led him to look at her, but his pride, always powerful and stubborn, kept him from doing or saying anything clear to show her that he was upset. He was – and, in spite of his silence and stillness, not so patiently – waiting for her to understand what was bothering him without giving her any clues.

It wasn't until they were home that, as he opened the hall closet to grab a hanger and put away his coat, he spoke to her. "I'm going to check on Henry," he said in a low, flat voice, and started walking to the stairs. Aware that she was still scrutinizing him, he rapidly climbed them, leaving her behind to lock the front door and dismiss their son's nanny.

Henry was soundly asleep when Chuck arrived to his room, which made him smile tenderly. He stared at him from the doorway for a few seconds before entering. He did what he used to do every time he got home when the kid was already sleeping; he silently stepped to the bed and then sat on its edge by his side, leaning down to place a delicate kiss on his forehead.

For a moment, while, careful not to wake him, he delicately stroked Henry's hair, anger and offence were gone; he had left them out the door that he had half closed, seeking for an intimate moment with his son. Just staring at him gave him an immense sense of peace.

Chuck didn't want to let that serenity go. Facing Blair was, at the same time, a tempting and frustrating prospect; he wanted an explanation but he also wanted to avoid her reaction. He had a feeling that, becoming conscious of the cause behind his nervousness, she would have accused him of being unreasonable.

Putting aside his pride, he knew that his annoyance was probably exaggerated and not completely lucid. Blair was a courteous lady and she knew how to behave at an event; ignoring the guests and refusing to socialize was impolite. He would have never questioned her faithfulness and devotion, not for real. Still, as the jealous person he admitted to be, he hated sharing her attention and, sometimes, he couldn't help but taking offence even at shallow things, such as watching her dance with someone else.

It took him several minutes to decide to leave Henry's room and head to the master bedroom. When he finally did, he found her sitting at her vanity set and realized that he must have spent more time staring at his son than he had thought; Blair had already changed into her pale ivory silk robe, removed her make-up and undid the chignon her hair had been gathered into all night. Dark chocolate curls fell now loosen on her shoulders.

Looking her and remembering how effortlessly she had ignored him a few hours ago, Chuck felt another surge irrational jealousy. He had to take a deep breath to stop himself from rushing over her and take her in his arms, possessively, just to tell her in an impulsive gesture that she was his. Instead, he put all of his unexpressed ardor into untying his bowtie and tossing it onto the bed bench.

Blair, furrowed eyebrows, eyed him from the mirror's reflection. "I thought you had fallen asleep there," she said, referring to the fact that it sometimes happened. Her voice was casual and calm in spite of the suspicious way she was gazing at him. "I was about to come to call you."

Chuck shrugged. "I must have lost the sense of time," he commented coldly.

When she stood up and moved a step towards the spot where he was still standing, unbuttoning his shirt, Chuck spun around and hurriedly crossed the room to the other side, before disappearing into his walk-in closet. He didn't come back into the bedroom until an half hour later, after having showered and changed into a comfortable pajama.

Blair was waiting for him, sitting on the bed. Something in the way she was looking at him, without any signs of uncertainties in her expression, told him that she had understood. His thoughts found a confirm a few seconds later, when she smiled at him – a somewhat provoking smile. "It's been a great party, don't you think?" she commented. "I really enjoyed myself. "

Chuck stiffened. "You surely did," he hissed, his tone reaching its lowest pitch.

The words, which were meant to be an accusation, didn't make Blair's smirk fade. It became mischievous instead, in a way that caused him frown. She was deliberately mocking him, perfectly aware of his jealously and, he detected with indignation, absolutely not interested into making him feel better. "It's so hard to find a good dancing partner," she sighed, "I suppose I was lucky."

Unconsciously, Chuck had stepped over her side of the bed as she had spoken. He pursed his lips, trying to contain himself; his hands were shaking, longing to touch her, and he couldn't bring himself to look away from her, anger slowly drifted into lust. "I didn't know you were so easy to please," he said, his words barely louder than a whisper.

Blair lifted herself up a bit more, her back sliding on the pillows she had placed against the headboard, and, instinctively, Chuck leaned down. Their faces were now separated by only a few inches. "I didn't know it was so easy to make you jealous," she replied.

It was then Chuck noticed what his blinding jealously had kept him from seeing till that moment: her face was glowing with triumph. It was vibrant, clear in her eager eyes. Her fingers suddenly curled around the collar of his pajama, clinging and pulling him down with her, and Chuck found himself on the top of her before he had the time to realize what he was doing.

"You did it on purpose," he murmured against her slightly parted lips, as his hands slowly made their way along her sides. Her back arched in response to the touch; Chuck sensed her muscles tensing as his palms inched on her bare skin, under the light night-gown. "You wanted this."

For the split of a second, Chuck thought that he didn't want to give her this satisfaction; she had toyed with him and kept him from enjoying what was supposed to be his night.

But then Blair closed her eyes, and, holding her breath, she grasped his hair. "Show me I'm yours," she murmured, a gasping, almost begging request that convinced Chuck that there was no way he could have resisted her. He had never been good at denying her what she wanted.

So he did as she had asked, wondering that, sometimes, surrendering was as sweet as winning.

* * *

**Notes:**

**[1]** Written for Chuck and Blair's 8th Limoversary, although I didn't manage to finish it in time. I was inspired by the prompt word "_triumph_". I wish all my readers a very happy Limoversary, despite the delay! As usual, feel free to contact me if you have any questions.

**[2]** I took episode **2X10**, "_Bonfire Of The Vanity_", as reference. In the episode, Chuck mentions that it's Bass Industries 20th anniversary – in the episode it's also mentioned that Blair's birthday is a week from this day. The fanfiction is set 10 years later, ergo in 2018, an year after the flash-forward of the last episode. I know there are speculations about Henry's age, but I'm one of those who think that he was 3 at the end of episode 6X10, and that's why he's 4 in this fanfiction.

**[3]** Other details: In my headcanon Henry has two middle names, Charles and Nathaniel. It's one of my favorite headcanons! Also, if you're curious, you can see Blair's dress here: /it/en/product/600940/oscar_de_la_renta/embellished-floral-appliqued-tulle-and-silk-organza-strapless-gown It's from this year's collection, but I couldn't help but picking it. We all know that our dear Chuck loves purple and he'd definitely love to see his wife wearing something like this – and have it custom made, of course, because he's Chuck Bass!

**[4] **English is not my first language, I'm Italian. I apologize for possible mistakes.

**[5] **As usual, a big thank you to my lovely Daphne (WeirdDaph on twitter) for correcting it and being very supportive.


	5. To Build A Home

_This is the place where I don't feel alone,_

_this is the place where I feel home._

* * *

When Blair Waldorf Bass made her entrance into the _Empire Hotel_, several heads turned to watch her cross the luxurious lobby. Curious, envious stares followed her graceful steps. Her stride and her poise made an unequivocal statement about who she was: not just a wealthy woman of exceptional elegance, but also the closest thing the city had to royalty. Well aware of her allure, she walked with subtle yet prideful arrogance; unapproachable and regal, she didn't deem anyone of a glance, her ruby red lips slightly pursed in a perfect, snobbish pout.

Fearful and tense, the concierge observed her coming towards him. Ever since she had moved there, all of the Empire's employees had started to think of every meeting with Mrs. Bass as a tricky test they had to pass if they wanted to keep their job. She was stunning, but she was as threatening as Mr. Bass, if not more. Her eyes might have been a warm shade of deep brown, but they were still glacial; they seemed to be always haunting for flaws and faults she would have reported to her husband – and probably with a sadist, satisfied smile.

Therefore, unwilling to make her wait, the concierge turned and hurried to get the penthouse suite keycard. When Blair reached the front desk, the key had been already set on the counter's tabletop. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Bass," the man greeted her with a discrete smile and a tone that sounded reverent and particularly courteous, but still professional enough not to be intrusive. "Your key is ready. A package arrived for you this morning and I took the liberty to have it brought to the suite."

Blair took off her sunglasses, revealing the cold, sharp gaze the vintage cat eye frame and the dark lens had hidden till that moment. "Good," she said with a dismissive nod.

The concierge thought he had seen the hint of a smile rise to her lips, but it didn't last. In a fleeting moment, Mrs. Bass was back staring at him with her usual imperturbable expression. He gulped nervously before asking her if she needed anything else.

"Yes, actually," she replied detached, grabbing the keycard. "My maid will soon stop by to deliver a dress. Send her up. I'd also like to be informed when my husband arrives."

With that last demand, she spun around on her stiletto heels, glossy, full curls bouncing on her shoulders as she walked past the front desk without adding another word or waiting for a reply. The concierge continued watching her until she disappeared inside the penthouse elevator, which a zealous doorman had already called for her. She was definitely the perfect match for his intimidating employer, he wondered, as he wrote down a memo to text Mr. Bass' driver to let him know when he was about to pull up to the building, so that he could satisfy Mrs. Bass' request.

Inside the privacy the elevator, away from prying eyes, Blair relaxed and sighed contentedly. She was thrilled. An afternoon meeting with the architect and the interior designer who were curating the renovation works on residence she and Chuck had bought four weeks ago had confirmed that the house was going to be ready within the next month. The news had left her overjoyed; she couldn't wait to move in with Chuck and start building their future there. Having their own place was the first milestone of their marriage and she was more than ready to reach it.

Blair had fallen in love with the propriety the first they had visited it. It was a five story neo-Italian Renaissance limestone building, situated in the Upper East Side of Manhattan, which had been converted to a single-family home by the previous owners. The townhouse was opulent, but it still preserved a certain warm atmosphere that had made her understand right away that it was perfect for them. Now that, thanks to her choices and dedication, it was progressively becoming a clear expression of their personalities and style, she couldn't help but envision their life there even more vividly. Growing as a couple, fulfilling their dreams, becoming parents one day in the near future and raising a child behind the walls of that gorgeous house; she could see it all and her imagination was so bright and told such a blissful story that she felt ecstatic.

A welcoming ding shook her from her daydreaming and told her that the private elevator had reached the top floor. After a second, the automatic doors slid open, letting Blair take in the modern furnished foyer. As she stepped inside the Empire's penthouse suite, where she had been living with Chuck for the past six months, her gaze was drawn, as it inevitably happened every time she walked in, by the flashy motorcycle towering in the center of the small entrance. She looked at the bright yellow license plate displaying her husband's surname with critical eye. She detested that piece; it was flamboyant and ostentatious.

And that was possibly the reason why Chuck loved it so much, Blair wondered, her expression softening as her lips instinctively curled in a tiny smile. Loving him unconditionally also meant accepting his sometimes excessively theatrical taste. She would have found a proper place for the garish bike in one of the many rooms of their new residence, she told herself as she shook her head resignedly – somewhere where it wouldn't have clashed too much with the sophisticated, French style furnishings and antique pieces she had decided to decorate the townhouse with.

The package the concierge had made sure to send to the suite was indeed an ensemble of furniture catalogues that her father, a romantic soul who still stubbornly preferred to avoid emails, had sent her from overseas, along with his notes and a beautifully handwritten letter that Blair couldn't wait to read. She was sure that it was a nostalgic, dreamy mix of thoughts about time passing (she was once his baby girl and now, so suddenly, she was a married woman ready to start her own family) and heartfelt reflections regarding the importance and the meaning of sharing a real house with her husband.

Lost in her thoughts, it took her some more seconds to realize the strange fact that Monkey hadn't come to welcome her as he always did whenever she stepped out of the elevator. It wasn't time for his walk; Chuck used to take him out in the morning before work and his valet did it in the early afternoon and in the evening. Frowning, she walked past the entrance and into the living room area, looking for the dog.

There, sitting awkwardly on the floor, was the reason behind the oddity. Blair stopped behind the long bright orange sofa and smiled at the sight of Nate playing with Monkey. The dark blue jacket of his suit had been abandoned on the couch's backrest and his tie fell loose over the shirt the dog had crumpled, moving frenetically on Nate's lap and pushing his pawns against his shoulders to shove him down. Under Blair's amused gaze, Monkey licked Nate's face with great enthusiasm, making him guffaw. The image was so hilarious – the blonde man looked like a kid with his cheeks flushed from all that laughing and with that gleeful expression on his always so innocent face – that Blair couldn't contain a soft giggle herself.

Monkey immediately raised his ears at the sound, turning his head towards her. Nate, who was now practically laying on the beige carpet covering the parquet floor and barely supporting himself on his elbows, hadn't heard her. He watched confused as the dog ran away wagging his tail and disappeared behind the couch. It was only when he couldn't see him anymore that he convinced himself to raise his eyes from the ground and finally saw Blair smiling down at him.

"Hello, Archibald," she greeted him, chuckling as she watched him flinch. His clear blue eyes opened wide and the blush of his cheeks became more evident as, embarrassed, he tried to sit up and gain back some composure. "You two are having fun, I see."

"Blair!" he exclaimed, running an hand through his messy blonde hair. "I'm sorry, I was, umh…I was just…" the stuttered words mingled in an indistinct mumbling, before he turned silent. His face assumed a disordered expression, as he clearly tried to find a credible reason for his presence.

Blair suspected he didn't have one, if not the genuine hope to find his best friend there – a naïve hope, she wondered, considering that Chuck rarely came back that early. She didn't know how he had ended up rolling on the floor with the dog, but it wasn't so hard to imagine Nate succumbing to Monkey's pleading eyes.

"Ivan let me in," Nate justified himself after a second, trying to avoid Blair's attentive stare. "I was just looking for Chuck. But he's not here and Monkey…" his voice trailed off with a sigh. He shook his head frantically. "Well, it doesn't matter. I'll go now, I don't wanna bug you."

"Bug me?" Blair raised her eyebrows laughing softly, as she sat down on the couch. "Nonsense," she smiled sweetly at Nate, following him with her eyes as he clumsily stood up. "You do not bug anyone, Nate; we've already told you plenty of times that you can come here whenever you want. You certainly don't need an invitation, much less Chuck's valet to '_let you in_'."

Nate shoot her a shy glance before looking down and jamming his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Blair sighed. She didn't know how to make him feel comfortable and at ease, as she knew Chuck wanted him to feel in spite of the new circumstances.

Their married life wasn't settling well with Nate at all. He wouldn't have dared to voice his feelings, but Blair knew him well enough to understand that he missed his best friend. Together, over the years, they had built numerous habits and routines that had inevitably shattered, even just for the simple fact that they didn't live together anymore.

Nate had decided to move to another suite when she and Chuck had gotten back from their honeymoon; no matter how much they had insisted that there was no need for him to do such a thing, he had still preferred to give them space. Back then Blair had been grateful for his unexpected perspicacity in that situation and for the way he had understood that newlyweds needed alone time more than anything, but now she felt a bit guilty. After months, Nate was still strangely nervous around her and reluctant to come to the penthouse when both she and Chuck were there, as if he was afraid to intrude. He preferred to try to catch his best friend alone, which usually turned out to be a terrible strategy to spend time with him. They definitely saw each other less than they were used to before.

"You can wait for Chuck here, he should be back in an hour or so. In the meantime you could pour yourself a drink and play pool, if you want," Blair kept on, trying to convince him not to leave with a wide, welcoming grin spreading on her face. "I really don't mind, Nate. I have these to look over anyways," she said, starting to extract the catalogues from the package the staff had settled on the coffee table in front of her.

Nate glanced up. For a moment his eyes focused on Monkey, who had curled up next to Blair and rested his head on her knee, letting her cuddle him, but then they shifted to the catalogues she was accurately piling up. Noticing that they were full of colorful post-its, the sadness that had crossed his face at the realization that he was now invisible to the dog faded. Curiosity suddenly made him frown. "What are those?" he asked intrigued, tilting his head slightly to get a better look of the pages.

"Oh, just some pieces of furniture I'm considering for the new house," she answered gaily, unable to hide her happiness. Her eyes were sparkling as she started to look at the pictures and, for a second, she almost forgot Nate was there. "They've just told me it'll be ready by next month," she said distractedly, as if she was talking to herself. "I can't wait to tell Chuck."

Still, as soon as the words escaped her lips, Blair realized her mistake. She raised her eyes and noticed that Nate was now staring at her with a deeply melancholic expression, his lips pursed in slight pout; her revelation, caused by an uncontrolled rush of enthusiasm, had definitely upset him. She immediately felt bad for Nate, understanding that her husband would have been far more tactful delivering what, to his best friend, was probably an unsettling news.

"Oh, that's…great," he commented, forcing a smile. His disappointed look, thought, betrayed the kind words. "I'm sure he'll be really happy. I'll go then," he rushed to add right after, his eyes back gazing at the floor. "I shouldn't be here when you'll tell him."

"Are you sure?" Blair asked. Truth to be told, she had planned to welcome Chuck with a drink and then soak into a bubble bath with him, but she was ready to give up on that tempting prospect if it meant reassuring Nate. She knew that her husband would have hated knowing that he was upset. Besides, they would have had plenty of time to be alone later. Chuck had had a bouquet of fresh pink peonies delivered at her office that morning, with a card and an invitation for a romantic dinner she was really looking forward to.

Nate nodded slowly. "Yeah," he shrugged. "I'll just text him to meet me in the lobby bar for a drink tonight."

Blair's heart sank at his words. They had a reservation for 9 PM and she was sure they wouldn't have gotten back to the Empire before midnight. "Actually, Nate...I don't think he'll make it," she uttered the words deliberately, trying to be delicate. "We have plans for tonight."

Nate's face had always been an open book about his emotions; it had always showed them crystal clear and Blair, who had been reading them correctly since she was four, wasn't surprised to see gloom immediately clouding his eyes. When he nodded again, he looked hurt and desolately resigned. "I see," he bowed his head and shrugged once more. "Could you just tell him to call me?" He heaved a long sigh, before adding: "If he has time, I mean…"

Full of guilt, Blair bit her bottom lip. "Look, why don't you come with us?" she proposed promptly, using her best persuading tone and brightest beam. She really didn't want him to feel so excluded. "I'm sure Chuck can change our dinner reservation for three."

The blonde man thought about it for a second before shaking his head no. "It's okay, Blair," a faint, polite smile curled his lips. "I'm sure you guys want to celebrate the good news. I don't wanna be the third wheel."

Defeated, Blair nodded. That attitude was so typical of Nate, she wondered as she watched him grab his jacket from the couch and give Monkey a gentle goodbye caress before leaving; there was no way to fight it, neglecting his needs in order to keep everyone happy had always been his greatest weakness.

* * *

"I can't believe we had dinner _in bed_," Blair grumbled hours later, as she dug a teaspoon into a cup of dark chocolate mousse. "We had a reservation at _Jean Georges_, Chuck."

In spite of the annoyed words, her tone was more amused than truly bothered and, when she took a taste of dessert, the corners of her lips tilted up in a discretely satisfied little smirk, as she shot him a playful glance from over the small crystal bowl. Her eyes were beaming too, Chuck realized once again, bright and full of vivid enthusiasm as they had been all night.

_That gaze, so intense and passionate, had been the first thing he had noticed, when, coming out of the elevator, he had found her standing in the foyer, the tip of her finger dancing slowly around the edge of the glass she was holding – a scotch, her favorite way to welcome him._

_She had smiled at him as he paced towards her, a secretive smile that gave a meaning to her mysterious silence and blissful glow; that expression, he had learnt over the years, was the portrayal of a victory, of something that made her proud and that she couldn't wait to share with him._

_Chuck worshiped that pose, the way her cheeks would turn blush and her irises sharper, deeper, as if the pleasure of a small or a big conquer had given her a darker, more shadowy charm. He admired that obscure beauty made of devilish glances and cryptically pleased smirks that were an insoluble enigma for everyone except for him. He took immense delight in her maliciousness and pride in the way she didn't feel the need to hide it in from him. There was no shame between them; his wife knew he would have rejoiced with her of all the successes the rest of the world would have considered outrageous._

_ "__What have you done, Blair?" he had asked as he took the drink she had handed him and laced his free arm around her waist. Her hand had trailed over his chest up to his tie, which she had loosened slowly and accurately. "I know that wicked look of yours," he had added when her eyebrows had raised at his knowing question. He had found himself smirking down at her. "It means trouble."_

_Blair had pulled away from him and started making her way towards the living room area, leaving him to stare at her back. "Trouble?" she had turned as she walked, glancing over her shoulder in a silent invite to follow her. "What gives you the impression that I misbehaved?" she had wondered in a soft, guiltless voice, and her doe eyes had widened, made sweeter by false innocence._

_Yet, Chuck had noticed with delight, all of her unconcealed contentment had showed in the way she had bitten her lower lip, impatient to share all the details of her triumph, as she leaned against the pool table's edge. He had taken a quick sip of his drink and reached her, resting the glass on the blue fabric upholstered tabletop. Soon his arms had trapped her in a firm hold again._

_ "__Misbehave?" he had echoed her after, pulling her closer so that her body would stick perfectly to his. "You should know that misbehaving is a relative concept, Mrs. Bass," he had said, his hand clutching her hip as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "And the line between good and evil is blurred at best."_

_Blair had giggled. "I might have threaten our architect," she had confessed, tilting her head on side to brush her lips against his neck. They had reached his ear in a sequence of furtive, light kisses. "No one can keep the Basses waiting this long," she had whispered, "I made sure he'd understand it."_

_The Basses. She was a Bass now and she thought and acted like one. A vague image of Blair calling herself Blair Bass, her dark eyes shining fiercely as she used the name they now shared to command respect and fear, had crossed Chuck's mind and he had felt like he owned the world, strengthened by a power that didn't have anything to do with money. He had squeezed her waist once more, possessively, as he made his hand inch up her side, tracing the sinuous shape of her body in a long, careful and devoted touch. His fingers had lingered on her shoulder, taking their time to make the strap of her dress slightly slide down on her forearm. The full view of the crook of her neck had made him purse his lips in the effort of keeping himself from sinking his face into it and, kissing her avidly, tear off her clothes._

_Blair had looked up at him and he had taken her chin between his fingers, lifting it up gently. His eyes had locked with hers, catching every shade of lust and pleasure in her dark stare. "And did you succeed?" The question, pronounced just to give her the satisfaction of answering with a proud yes, had escaped his mouth firm but tense from the way their bodies were longing for each other._

_Blair had shot him a victorious glance, as her lips stretched in a satisfied but sweeter smile. "The house will be ready within the next month," she had announced. Deeper than desire and passion, a look of pure, simple happiness had showed on her face._

_Chuck had stared at her in silence for a second; her joy was reassuring and warm, and the certainty that she was his home, that he was building a future with her – a future where he had a real house, a real family and true, unconditional love -, was more electrifying and sexier than any mischievous look she had ever given him. So he had answered with a passionate kiss and swiftly laid her down on the pool table; he had made love to her there, incapable of waiting a second more. Dinner plans had been completely forgotten, as he showed her gratitude in the way he liked the most. _

"The _Empire_ kitchen is excellent," Chuck stated smugly. He smirked pleased as he leaned towards Blair, who was sitting in front of him with her feet tucked under herself. "You can't possibly complain about dinner," his lips haunted for hers again and, kissing her, he felt the taste of chocolate on his tongue. "Or about what we did before," he added when they parted, his still greedy eyes slowly going back up her figure and memorizing the details of her body.

He could have spent hours staring at her, his gaze following every single move she made, and delighting in the simplest facets of her demeanor; the way she'd push a curl behind her ear and look down when she felt exposed, the way she'd frown at his dirty comments but, at the same time, repress a flattered smile – all the small things about her that he adored. In that moment he was bewitched by how graceful and yet majestic she looked, her naked body dressed only by the light sheet she had draped around herself, and the locks he had eagerly tousled in their moment – hours, actually – of passion falling messy on the ethereal, porcelain skin of her thin shoulders.

He smiled, watching as Blair turned slightly and set aside the small dessert bowl on the tray that rested beside them on the mattress. She turned her attention back to him and cupped his cheek with her hand, smiling as well. "I'm not complaining," she clarified. She leaned in and placed another brief, light kiss on his lips, a simple, tactful gesture to make sure her comment hadn't hurt his pride. "I just love _Jean Georges_' beef tenderloin," she sighed. "And a night out wouldn't have been so bad."

Chuck chortled. He knew how much she liked showing off their happiness and their power and how pleased she was by the way people looked at them, with that unmistakable combination of envy and uneasiness. She didn't want to waste any occasion to tell the world that she was his wife and her satisfaction, that look of pride and fulfillment on her face, was absolutely thrilling to him. "Well," his arms captured her waist and he pulled her onto his lap. She didn't resist his hold, but relaxed in the tight embrace, resting her back against chest. His lips skimmed over her neck following its curve, till he reached her bare shoulder and kissed it. "If you're still in the mood for going out we could still go take a look at _our_ house."

The offer, murmured against her skin, was meant to provoke her. Blair was being extremely secretive about the house; she wouldn't allow him to go check on the refurbishing works or give him even the vaguest idea about how she had chosen to decorate the residence. She wanted it to be a surprise, she had explained him excitedly. Although he despised being kept in the dark, her beaming lips and enthusiastic, glowing eyes had been a reason enough for Chuck to give in and promise her that he would have satisfied her wish. He had always been powerless in front of that tender, somewhat innocent expression; it was the reflection of her most romantic and dreamy side and, most of all, of the deep love and immense devotion she had for him. He trusted her unconditionally; he had no doubts she would have done a pristine job. Still, this little mystery between them was intriguing and, knowing how controlling his wife was, he couldn't help but teasing her about it.

Blair turned her head and eyed him over her shoulder. He smirked at her, his eyebrows raised to show amusement, and she smiled, always content to be leading the game. "Nice try, Bass," she brought her hand to his cheek and gave him a gentle, playful pinch. "But I forbade you to see it before it's ready. And it doesn't matter how much you try to persuade me with sex, the rule will not change."

She had spoken in that authoritarian, despotic tone that Chuck adored. A little, oblique smile curved his lips. "I don't follow the rules, Blair," he said huskily, slipping his fingers under the sheet wrapped around her. He ran his palms over her stomach up to her breasts, careful to do it with an almost exasperating slowness, and smirked smugly when she gasped at the squeeze of his hands. In the constant power struggle that their games were, he loved how her body never missed to respond to his touch; the lack of control she had over attraction she felt was always a victory. "I make them."

Blair tilted her head down, resting it helplessly on his shoulder. He felt her lips tracing the line of his jaw as she lifted her arm, reaching out to his head. Her fingers curled around a bunch of strands, gently at first, and then, a moment later, tightly. Suddenly she was pulling his hair, forcing Chuck to let out a soft groan of pain. "Not this time," she replied and, although breathless, she still sounded incredibly firm. "And not with your wife."

The moment she pronounced those last two words – '_your_ _wife_' sounded incredibly erotic to his ears, especially if said in such a bossy way – , Chuck decided that he was done talking. He turned in an abrupt, impatient movement and pushed her down on the mattress, entrapping her under his weight. "Maybe," he conceded, clasping her hands and guiding her arms over her head, desirous to have full control. He watched her eyes roll with pleasure as she bit her lip to contain an instinctive moan. "But right now I do," he declared as her legs tangled around his waist, and for the next half hour she was more than happy to surrender and let him do just that.

Later that night, Chuck was enjoying a totally different kind of intimacy. There was nothing passionate or eager in the way Blair's fingers were now running leisurely and delicate through his hair; it was a sweet, tender pleasure that satisfied him for its warmth and its caring affection.

Exhaustion had eventually caught up with them and they were now laying in silence, basking in that quietness marked only by their steady breaths. Chuck had his head rested on Blair's lap and an arm lazily laced around her waist. His eyes were closed as he played distractedly with her free hand. His grip was relaxed and not too tight; he was tracing faint imaginary circles on her palm with the tip of his finger, and that reiterated, slow movement was making him somnolent.

He had gotten used to fall asleep with his hands on her; he would drift into unconsciousness holding her tight, toying with her hair or stroking her skin till he couldn't move anymore. He loved touching her, he needed to. It wasn't simply about the way he longed for her body and how he was always desirous to make love to her; it was also about what came after sex, those simple and innocent gestures that were almost childish, but that gave him a sense of calmness that he often couldn't reach by himself. He was constantly driven by the necessity and the desire to feel her presence.

In a surge of gratitude, Chuck squeezed her hand. "I promise I'll take you out tomorrow night," he murmured, his eyes fluttering open to look at her. As he had expected, she was staring at him. He had perceived her loving and attentive gaze watching over him ever since his eyelids had gone shut; under that look, he always felt instinctively safe. Blair looked tired and happy and both considerations made a self-satisfied smirk curl his lips. "Our first house needs to be celebrated properly."

All of sudden, a pensive expression showed on her face. "I'd love to," she said in a low voice, "but I maybe it's not such a good idea, Chuck."

Chuck frowned. His eyes were now narrowed, trying to decipher that unexpected change in Blair's mood. Her demeanor – fleeing gaze and teeth pressed lightly against her lower lip – let a certain sense of guilt show through. That pose wasn't mischievously proud; it didn't suggest she was satisfied about something she had achieved through an aware use of her meanness, but rather it seemed to be honestly remorseful. It was an expression and that rarely crossed her face and Chuck felt intrigued.

"Why not?" he asked suspiciously, as he sat up. He rested his back against the headboard and slid closer to her. "I was under the impression you craved to display our magnificence in a fancy restaurant," he reminded her. She was still lying and he was free to look down at her and scrutinize her face from a privileged position. "You even almost implied it would have been more pleasant than sex."

Blair sighed, shaking her head at his raised eyebrows and amused air. "I did not," she stated, as she pulled herself upright to stare at him straight in the eyes. After a moment Chuck had covered her shoulders with his arm and, when he held her closer, she turned her head, avoiding his question and keeping him from meeting her gaze.

Chuck ducked his head, brushing his lips against her ear. "What's with the mystery, Blair?" he questioned, curious and captivated by her ambiguity. When she didn't reply, he smirked. "You forget I'm a master at discovering secrets," he pointed out. Since she was obstinately refusing to look at him, he placed a soft kiss on her neck, sure that the velvety touch of his mouth would have been too tempting to keep her gaze away from his any longer. "You'd better tell me. You know I'm going to find out anyways."

Giving in, Blair huffed. She turned her attention back at him and rolled her eyes in front of the complacent air showing on his face. "Fine," she conceded, heaving a longer sigh as she placed her head on his chest. Her lips curled in a small, docile pout as she ran her hand over his robe and, looking up at him, she shot him an unsure look. "It's about Nate."

Chuck's brow had furrowed in confusion. Suddenly, to his eyes, his wife's expression appeared more worrying than fascinating. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't heard from his best friend all day; he hadn't found time to call him while he was at work and, once home, his attention had been entirely monopolized by Blair. "What about Nathaniel?" he asked, unable to repress a certain hint of concern in his tone.

Blair didn't answer right away. She rubbed her cheek against his chest and lightly stroked his jaw with her hand, a sequence of gestures that told Chuck that she was about to tell him something he wouldn't have liked. Those gentle ways were an unequivocal attempt to placate him in advance. He sighed, reaching for her palm rested on his face. "Blair," he squeezed her hand, tangling their fingers together and making her raise her eyes on him again. His gaze, questioning and serious, remained still on her hesitant face. "Tell me."

Blair eyed him for one more second before nodding. "He was here when I arrived," she told him cautiously. "He had come looking for you. I tried to convince him to stay and wait with me, but he didn't want to."

Chuck's frown deepened. He took a moment to ponder over her words, thinking of Nate and his recent timidity around Blair, and sighed. "He did," he uttered, shaking his head slowly. "He's just scared to intrude; he's persuaded his presence might bother you. Did he tell you what he needed?"

"No, I suppose he just wanted to see you. He said he'd ask you to meet him for a drink tonight..." Blair paused, looking down as she toyed with the hem of Chuck's robe's collar. She inhaled a deep breath. "But I told him we had plans. I felt bad, so I asked him to join us but then again he didn't listen to me."

Chuck stayed silent for a moment. It was his fault, he wondered, if Nate didn't feel at ease anymore. He hadn't done much to make sure he'd get used to the new circumstances and comfortable in Blair's presence. His free time was almost nonexistent these days and he didn't have many occasions to see his best friend. He was working tirelessly to prove his worth at Bass Industries and, when he came home at night, all he wanted was Blair's exclusive company; her words and touches to make him feel powerful and capable, and, at the same time, her arms wrapped around him to remind him that he was allowed to be vulnerable. She was his safe place; he didn't have anything to demonstrate in her embrace, there weren't expectations or judgement in the way she held him, spoke to him or simply looked at him. Most of the times, he just couldn't renounce to be alone with her.

But it didn't mean he could forget all the other important people in his life, especially Nathaniel, he realized. Sense of guilt and a vague sadness caught him and he glanced down, pursing his lips. "Don't worry about it, I'll talk to him," Chuck stated and his voice sounded firm and somewhat cold, letting his wife understand that he really didn't feel like keeping on with the conversation.

He felt Blair's gaze fixing on him and her hand inching to his shoulder in a gentle caress. "Chuck, there's more," she admitted, forcing him to look back her. He nodded silently, the slowness of his slight movement speaking for the part of him that didn't want to hear what she had to say. He already felt guilty enough.

"I told him we'll move out next month," Blair finally confessed. "I know you wanted to be the one to tell him, I didn't do it on purpose. I was so enthusiastic and it just slipped out."

Chuck closed his eyes and inhaled a deep, controlled breath. Blair sounded actually mortified and her gloomy tone made him want to pull her closer, hold her tighter and tell her that nothing too serious had happened. Yet, he stayed immobile; he was blocked, unable to look at her or show her how he truly felt. He wasn't exactly angry at her, he could understand how the surge of excitement that had led her to speak to Nate, but the thought of how his best friend had surely reacted to the news kept him from letting irritation go. In some ways, he felt like she had interfered in something that was exclusively his and denied him a truly valuable and significant moment with the man he considered his brother. He had planned to tell Nate about the new house in a way that would have made him understand that it didn't mean he had become any less family to him; he wanted to give him a copy of the keys and explain him that he wasn't just welcome in his house, but that he actually wanted him to be a part of it, part of the life he and Blair were building together.

"I'm sorry," Blair whispered against Chuck's chest. "It was a stupid mistake. You know I didn't mean to, right?"

Chuck turned slowly to lay his gaze on her. Her saddened eyes hit him and he knew right away that he couldn't let her take the blame. He couldn't let melancholy darken her glowing face; he would have forgiven her anything, always, for the simple fact that his love for her was deeper and stronger than any other feeling. Plus, being honest, he knew he was most of all mad at himself for having let all of this happen. Making sure his best friend didn't feel excluded should have been his responsibility.

So he forced himself to smile faintly at Blair and place a quick kiss on the top of her head. "I know," he said calmly. Yet, after, he couldn't help but turning quiet, as his tangled thoughts and sense of guilt built an instinctive, inevitable wall between him and his wife.

"I need a shower," he told her after a couple of minutes of silence. "Don't wait for me," he added as he stood up. "You look tired, you should sleep."

Blair nodded, her eyes following him as he crossed the room. He smiled at her before disappearing into the bathroom, thankful for the way she had obviously understood that he needed some time alone to think.

* * *

The next morning Chuck did his best to act as if nothing had happened, determined to show Blair that he wasn't upset. His controlled demeanor and carefully displayed calm, though, didn't convince his wife. In spite of the way Blair seemed to be indulging his behavior, keeping the same composure and normal attitude as he was forcing himself to exhibit in front of her, he still knew she was aware of his real mood. Her gaze, vigilant yet discrete, had followed and studied him all the way through his morning ritual; she had been scrutinizing him ever since she had woken him, trying to catch any sings of anger or even the slightest crack of unconcealed sadness in his expression.

She was still staring at him; he could feel her eyes on him even if he couldn't see her, his face hidden behind the front page of the Spectator. They were sitting at the breakfast table, Blair eating a croissant and Chuck reading his best friend's newspaper, as he did every day before work.

Blair cleared her throat, trying to get his attention. When he folded the corner of the page to glance at her, she smiled at him. "I forgot to tell you I probably won't be home for dinner tonight," she said, reaching for the cup in front of her.

Chuck gave her a quizzical look, watching as she took a sip of tea. "Why not?"

Blair shrugged. "I have a meeting with the buyers at 6," she explained, bringing the cloth napkin to her mouth and elegantly brushing it against her still nude lips. "I'm quite sure it'll drag on. I'll just eat something at the atelier."

Chuck furrowed his eyebrows. "It's Wednesday. I recall you said it was scheduled for Friday," he replied, not hiding a hint of suspect in his tone. Blair had been talking about it for a couple of weeks and he was completely sure about the date she had mentioned. He closed the paper and set it aside on the table, turning his full attention to her.

"It was," she nodded and a larger smile spread on her face. "But I moved it up. I need a long weekend. I was actually thinking I could fly to Paris on Friday morning and come back on Sunday. I have my heart set on a few antique pieces I'd like to check firsthand."

It was a credible answer, Chuck wondered as he observed her, spoken with conviction and spontaneity. His wife was incredibly controlling and the fact that she was skeptical to trust the pictures and wanted to inspect the pieces she had chosen directly wasn't surprising. Sure, she could have sent the interior designer they had hired precisely to take care of these matters, but Blair's immense love for Paris was enough to justify her desire to go herself. Yet, something in her expression didn't quite convince him; he had the clear feeling that she had something to hide.

"That sounds like a great plan," he commented anyways, willing to see how far she'd go with her attempt to keep him in the dark about whatever she truly had in mind. "I suppose I'm not invited to join you?"

Blair shook her head, letting out a soft laugh. "Absolutely not," she said promptly and Chuck ended up smirking in spite of his suspects; she looked so charming that he couldn't help it. "It'd spoil the surprise, Chuck. And, by the way, I'll be staying at my mother's. You'd hate spending two days listening to her complaints about my taste."

Even when clouded by a brief moment of insecurity, her expression was always so dignified; Chuck wondered as he observed her roll her eyes at the thought of her mother's judgement and guide the teacup to her lips, sighing before taking the last short sip. He decided right there that his doubts and bad mood could have been put aside for now; he couldn't resist the temptation to get close to her, so he stood up and came around the table.

"Don't be silly," he leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Eleanor adores you and your sense of style," his lips moved to her mouth, indulging in a longer and deeper kiss. When he pulled away from her, her eyelids were hooded and her lips curled in a content tiny smile. "And so do I," he said, smiling back at her as he tucked a curl behind her ear. "I'll have my assistant arrange the jet for Friday early morning, so you'll be in Paris before dinner time. I'm sure Eleanor and Cyrus have already planned to take you to that restaurant you like so much."

Pushing the chair back, Blair stood up as well. "_La Rotisserie du Beaujolais_," she uttered in a flawless, almost natural French. She reached out to his tie, fixing it in a gesture that was purely a display of affection and care, since the knot was already impeccably centered. "You spoil me. You always think of everything," she wrapped her arms around his neck and glanced up on him, shooting him a cautious look. "Maybe you could ask Nate to spend the weekend here, since you'll be alone."

Chuck felt his heart turning heavy again. The true meaning behind Blair's change of plans had become clear; she was trying to help him and fix her mistake by giving him the possibility to spend some time alone with his best friend. Her proposition made perfect sense and he knew it was exactly what he needed, but he wasn't sure he could have actually found the nerve to invite Nate; he had wondered about calling him and apologizing all night, but his own guilt had kept him from doing it. He couldn't silence the thoughts telling him that Nate probably didn't want to talk to him and that he had acted too carelessly to deserve the chance of saying sorry.

He lowered his eyes, pressing his lips in a thin line. "We'll see," he replied laconically.

Blair was about to reply when Chuck's valet cleared his throat to announce himself. "I'm sorry to interrupt, sir," he apologized, "but your limousine is waiting."

Chuck reluctantly pulled away from Blair. "What time is it?" he asked harshly, glaring at the man standing right in front of him. He hated being disturbed, especially when he was with Blair.

"It's 8:30, sir," the valet replied immediately, "as per your instructions."

Chuck sighed and turned to look at Blair again. "I'm sorry, Blair, I have to go," he said, leaning towards her once again to give her a quick kiss.

Blair rested her hand on his cheek. "Think about it, okay?" she reminded him, her fingers skimming over his jaw in a tender caress.

Avoiding her gaze, Chuck nodded. "I will see you tonight," he told her, as, stepping away from her, he took the briefcase his valet was handing him. "Have a good day."

"You too. I'll call you at lunch," he heard her say as he rapidly crossed the living room area to the elevator without looking back.

* * *

It was half past six when Chuck entered the penthouse. As the automatic doors closed behind him and he stepped inside, his eyes started inspecting the dark entrance. He realized immediately that he was alone. The suite was empty and completely silent; Monkey had been taken out by the valet for his evening walk and, as expected, Blair still wasn't back.

Her absence was almost painful. Chuck had always needed and cherished his moments of solitude, but he wasn't used to that loneliness anymore; the quietness shrouding the penthouse was a reminder of a life that didn't belong to him anymore – hollow, broken, hopeless.

Blair had changed it all. Over the past months, she had filled every corner of that place with her love and her care, turning it into a home. She had taught him the pleasure of small habits and the value of sharing a routine together. He loved coming back to find her waiting for him; he'd take her in his arms and, holding her, bask in the feeling that she was his rock and _home_ was wherever she was.

Crossing the foyer and walking to the bar, Chuck was overcome by an irrational, piercing sadness. Heaving a long sigh, he reached out to the crystal decanter and poured himself a glass of single malt. He took a moment to stare at the empty room before taking the first sip.

His gaze lingered on the pool table in front of him and his lips curled in a faint, nostalgic smile; no matter how bad Nate was at every game that required attention and precision, in that moment he would have loved to have him there and play with him. Lost in thoughts and memories, Chuck slowly brought the glass to his lips and took a taste of liquor. Even the scotch he was drinking made him wonder about his best friend; when Nate still lived there, they used to have one together every night before dinner, talking about their days. It was some sort of ritual that he missed dearly.

He had been trying to convince himself to call him all day long. At lunch time, right after speaking with Blair, he had almost pressed number 2 on speed dial, driven by a feeling that was more powerful than sense of guilt; selfless affection and a genuine desire to talk to Nate. Eventually, though, he hadn't given in. Apologizing had never come easy to him. The hard part had never been understanding his mistakes; he could – and clearly. His difficulties came when he was faced with the challenge of forgiving himself – for what he had done and especially for the fragility that had led him to those faults. Expressing regret required a strength and a bravery he often didn't have.

He would have had to explain Nate that the reason why he had been so reluctant to give himself time apart from Blair was that the moments he spent alone with her were the only moments he felt free; from the responsibilities and the weight of ruling an empire and, most of all, free from the comparison with the man who had built it. He couldn't. The serenity he reached when he was with his wife came also from the fact that he didn't have to explain his need; she felt him and understood him emphatically.

But Nathaniel deserved an apology. Not too long ago, when he was resigned to the fact that Blair was lost to him and that he would have never built a future with her, Nate had been the one person to come home to. Even with his clueless eyes and naïve smile, he had still stood by him faithfully. He had been his home as well, he realized as his mind filled with childhood reminiscences, and for a long time. Chuck had once been a kid with without a family and his best friend had, in some ways, given him one; most of the few good memories he had from that part of his life were with Nate, in his house, a house that had welcomed him a thousand times. Growing up and having the chance to choose, they had lived together longer than they had lived separately; teenage Nate used to occupy Chuck's suite's couch most of the nights even before they had moved in together at the Empire.

Chuck shook his head, cursing his recent negligence towards his best friend once again. He finished his drink and, unfastening his tie, he made his way to the bedroom. He would have showered and then called Nate, he told himself strictly; this situation had gone on far too long.

As soon as he entered the room, though, his attention was drawn by a suit laid on the bed. He frowned; he hadn't demanded his valet to have it ironed and prepared, since he had no intention of going out. As he approached the bed, he realized that a note and a small dark red package had been set next to the outfit. Intrigued, Chuck picked up the package first; it was from _Cartier_ and it hadn't been closed yet, as if whoever had placed it there – Blair, for sure – wanted him to peek inside.

Thinking that his wife had probably decided to mend his pensive mood with a gift, Chuck smirked pleased and opened the box. The contents surprised him; a key ring was nestled on light tissue paper. It was surely a tasteful piece – three rings in stainless steel and pink and yellow golden finish – but it was an unusual present. He pulled it out of the package to observe it better and his frown deepened when he noticed that hanged to the ring there were actually keys.

Puzzled, Chuck put the key ring back into its box and reached out to the note, hoping that it would have given him a clear explanation rather than a clue. He usually loved Blair's games, but he wasn't exactly in the mood to play. His eyes focused on the short letter and, even if driven by absolute inquisitiveness, he couldn't help smile at his wife's monogram printed on the top of the paper – **B W B** – before he started reading.

_ "Love also means knowing when your stubborn other half needs a little push. You have a dinner date with Nate at the hotel's restaurant scheduled for 8 o'clock. Don't make him wait, please. I picked a fresh suit for you, I'm sure you'll be satisfied with my choice. As for the keys, they're a copy of our house's; I bet you already know what to do with them. Love, B."  
_  
Chuck's lips had instinctively bent in a smile the moment he had finished reading the first line. Blair was right; he knew what to do – and so did she, he wondered as he rested the note back on the bed. She had always known what he needed better and more promptly than he did.

* * *

"You're wearing a sweater," Chuck stated as his eyes rested on Nate, who had just reached him at the table. "And jeans," he kept on. "_For dinner_. I must say I'm not surprised, Nathaniel." Even if pronounced with his signature slow and posh tone, the words had the sound and the softness of an affectionate joke.

Affection – and a certain relief – was what Chuck had felt when he had spotted Nate walking into _Ed's Chowder House_. Dressed in a navy blue sweater and a pair of dark jeans, the blonde man had looked around with narrowed eyes and slightly parted lips, trying to figure out if his best friend had already arrived. His outfit and his typical absent-minded expression had made Chuck smile immediately, as he watched him grin kindly at the maître who had approached him to walk him to the table. While the clothes Nate was wearing would have usually made him frown with dissention, that night they had simply amused him.

Nate blinked, as if he was trying to figure out if the comment was a criticism or a compliment. That disordered face made Chuck chortle and, when he did, a bright, large smile spread across the blonde's face.

Nate shrugged. "They're comfortable, man," he said cheerfully, as he pushed the chair back and took a seat in front of Chuck, who shook his head at that answer and at the way his friend had sat down – clumsily, with his elbow rested on the candid linen tablecloth. "Hey!" he exclaimed then, hopping slightly on his chair. The cloth napkin he was trying to adjust on his lap fell on the floor, victim of that sudden rush of enthusiasm. "You arrived before me!"

"I did, indeed," Chuck stated, motioning for a waiter to get closer. When the man did, he gestured towards the fallen object. "What's so shocking about it?"

Nate giggled. "Nothing, it's just weird. You're always late," he answered before smiling at the server, who had promptly seen to bring him a clean napkin. "Thank you so much," he told him.

Chuck couldn't help but rolling his eyes in front of his best friend's gentleness. "_Fashionably late_, Nathaniel. It's different," he specified. "And that only happens when I have to meet irrelevant people. Would you like an entree?"

"Sure," Nate agreed, his eyes shimmering with glee.

Chuck smirked, glad that his reply had brought the result he had hoped. Nate was blatantly content to be considered important – and even somewhat surprised, he detected then. He felt a pinch of guilt prinking his chest; it was his fault if his best friend had doubted the significance he had in his life. He had to make it up to him, he told himself once more, and make sure it never happened again.

Chuck ordered salmon tartare and oysters as starters and lobsters for both of them to follow. As they waited for the first course, Nate told him about how he had received the invitation. As he had expected, Blair had been exquisitely smart; she had had his assistant call Nate, making sure she'd clarify that the only reason why Chuck wasn't calling him in person was that he was far too busy. It was a perfectly believable excuse and, obviously, Nate had bought it without exemptions; he was fully convinced the idea of dining together had come from Chuck's – and he seemed to be incredibly happy about it. His wife had achieved her goals, Chuck thought with pride and gratitude: she had gently pushed him to overcome his guilt and managed to make Nate feel considered.

Dinner was truly pleasant. A couple of hours flew by as they discussed work and common acquaintances, enjoying delicious food and fine wine. Chuck felt relaxed and home; talking to Nate was amusing and natural and, he realized more and more clearly as minutes passed, it was also something he couldn't renounce to. His friendship was indispensable to him. They had to find new routines and adapt to the changing of their lives in a way that would have allowed them to maintain their relationship intact, not any different from how it had been till then; domestic, brotherly and, most importantly, solid.

"Blair will be in France for the weekend," Chuck said as he took the first bite of dessert. "I was thinking you could stay at the penthouse while she's away," he paused, taking a sip of champagne from his flute. "We hadn't had much time together lately."

Nate glanced down, his gaze resting on his lemon meringue pie. "Yeah," he replied, toying with the dessertspoon he was holding. "But it's okay. I know your busy with work and well…Blair."

Chuck shook his head. "Blair has nothing to do with it," he affirmed firmly. Nate glanced up, shooting him a confused look, and he sighed. "I know you're afraid to intrude," he kept on, "and I know you're convinced you'd bother her if you spent more time with us, but none of this is true. You're family to her, as much as you are to me."

A veil of gloom darkened Nate's face. "It's just you guys have been through so much," he pointed out sadly. He paused and, shrugging, he stole a quick, shy glance at Chuck, as if he was trying to understand from his expression if the vague reminder of everything happened before the wedding had been tactless. "You have the right to build your life, you know."

Chuck stared at him right in the eyes; clear blue, genuine eyes that were a mirror of his selfness and of his good heart. Slowly, the corners of his lips tilted up in a gentle smile. "But I have no intention of building a life that doesn't include you," he uttered after a few seconds of silence. He was speaking in the most sincere way, his words undressed of their characteristic pomposity, and he knew that Nate could understand the rarity of that precise moment; letting his guard down and conveying his feelings into unequivocal, pure words was something Chuck didn't do very often. "And neither does Blair. She told about the conversation you two had yesterday and she feels pretty guilty about it."

Nate shook his head. "It doesn't matter –"

"It does," Chuck stopped him right away. "You should have heard about the house from me. I haven't been a good friend to you these past few months," he admitted, lowering his gaze. He tried to drown the shame he felt in another long sip of champagne before keeping on with his speech. "I didn't mean to be so absent, but I've had a lot on my plate and some things have been…overwhelming."

He let the words hang and, after another small pause, he convinced himself to glance up; meeting Nate's gaze again, he felt reassured. His best friend didn't look disappointed or even perplexed and he knew right there that his apology, although elusive, had been comprehended.

Nate smiled brightly at him. "I understand, man," he told him. "I suppose it's only fair to want to be with your wife. I guess, at least," his eyebrows furrowed to show indecision. "But I've never been married so I wouldn't know."

Chuck let out a soft laugh. "It depends who you're married to, Nathaniel. I must say I'm a lucky man."

The grin on Nate's lips widened. "I'm really happy for you," he said in a serious, sincere tone. "It's a good thing that you and Blair will soon have a real house. I'll just miss you around here."

Nate's words had trailed off with a melancholic sigh and his smile had slowly faded. Looking at him, Chuck thought that was the perfect moment to reassure him. "Which is why I want you to have these," he replied, sliding his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulling out the keys. He handed them over to his best friend, who picked them up with a frown.

"They're a copy our house's keys," Chuck explained before Nate could pronounce the question that was about to escape his lips. His eyes widened in surprise and Chuck smirked. "You'll be free to come and go whenever you please, Nathaniel," he kept on. "We'll always be happy to welcome you."

"But man," the blond man objected, holding the keyring with his index finger, "are you sure Blair is okay with this?"

Nate was happy, Chuck could tell it from the way he was trying to contain himself from beaming with enthusiasm in front of that unexpected gift and its clear meaning. His hesitance came from his natural fear of being disrespectful; Nate used to tiptoe around people, timid and humble as he had always been. He was a delicate person and possibly the most sensitive man Chuck knew.

"I'm completely sure. You've got to stop being so shy around her, Nathaniel," Chuck pointed out, reaching out to Nate's flute and filling it with more champagne. "She's Blair; you've know her since you were four. The fact that we're married now doesn't change a thing. As a matter of fact," he paused, pouring the sparking liquid into his glass as well, "she's the one who had the keys made. She even went all the way to _Cartier_ to get you a proper keyring."

That revelation finally managed to make Nate let go of his insecurity and allow himself to smile widely, gratitude and enthusiasm sparkling in his gaze. "Did she?" he chuckled, turning the keys in his hand and staring at them as an stunned child. "I should probably send her flowers to thank her."

Chuck nodded. "I would if I were you," he agreed with decision. "Pink peonies," he reminded him, smirking. "They're her favorite."

This was family, he wondered a few minutes later, as he and Nate finished dessert and made plans for the weekend; knowing each other to the core, accepting each other and sharing a life together. He was utterly proud of the one he was building.

* * *

The sound of the elevator reaching the penthouse woke Blair long past midnight. The ding, even though soft, had been enough to break her light sleep. Without Chuck's arms trapping her, she hadn't been able to relax completely; although tiredness had forced her to rest, her eyes had snapped open at every noise ever since she had gone to bed.

Realizing that he was finally back, Blair smiled softly, counting every slow, deliberate step he took approaching the bedroom. She reached out to the night light on the bedside table, turned it on and sat up, adjusting the duvet over her legs. A few seconds later her husband crossed the door.

"Blair," Chuck uttered gently, his lips curving in a smile. "You're still awake."

Finding her waiting for him had surely pleased him, she noticed contentedly, but for once she was happy to acknowledge that she wasn't the only person responsible for his blatant good mood; she didn't feel jealousy at the thought that someone else could give him the delight she could see clearly on his face in that moment, but tenderness and warmth. "It feels strange to sleep without you," she admitted, smiling back at him. "Did you enjoy your dinner with Nate?"

Chuck stared at her in silence for a moment. It was that look – dark, deep and immobile – that made her feel adored; every now and then he'd literally take a few second to gaze at her and his usually enigmatic expression would turn more tender, letting all of his devotion and gratefulness show through. Blair felt herself blushing under his eyes and, as he stepped towards her, she glanced down.

"I did," he replied as he sat down next to her on the edge of the bed. "I think Nathaniel finally understood that I'm not abandoning him and that you're not trying to banish him," he added, removing his tie.

His words were tinged with that pinch of sarcasm that was so typical of him and it was that small detail that told Blair that he had finally let go of guilt and worries. She raised her eyes on him again and shot him a gloating look, her lips bending in a satisfied smirk. "So he appreciated the keys?"

A sudden shyness, revealed by a tiny smile, softened Chuck's expression. "He was enthusiastic. I don't think we'll ever get rid of him," he joked.

She giggled and he leaned forward to kiss her. His mouth tasted like scotch and cigars and her lips, pressed against his, stretched in a smile; she detested smoke, but that night knowing he had conceded himself some perdition didn't bother her at all.

"You smoked a cigar," she still stated when they parted, giving him a stern look. She had tried to sound disapproving, but she understood from his chuckle that her words had come out amused instead.

Chuck nodded, visibly satisfied. "A couple, actually," he informed her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and raised his eyebrows at her, an oblique smirk giving to his face the haughtiness she couldn't help but love. "And not just those."

Blair shook her head, not surprised by the revelation. "You are incorrigible," she sighed.

His smirk turned sharper with his growing contentment. "And that's exactly why you love me so much," he replied. He captured her lips in another kiss before she had the time to contradict him.

Blair granted herself some seconds of pleasure before giving him a little push, pulling away from him. His complacent, devilish little smile was still there to make her roll her eyes. "Go shower, Bass," she commanded, "before you contaminate the sheets with smoke smell."

Chuck, always delighted by his authoritarian tone, eyed her. "I love when you get so imperative," he said, amused by her forcedly austere pose. "There's something erotic about it," he declared.

Prepared to her reaction, he stood up before she could slap his shoulder; he knew exactly when to expect some sort of violent response from her, simply because provoking her was something he had never stopped loving to do. He crossed the room and closed the bathroom door behind him, aware that, in spite of her fake annoyance, his wife was smiling lovingly at him.

When Chuck came back into the bedroom, Blair had turned the light off. Suspecting that she had fallen asleep, he approached the bed gingerly and cautiously laid down next to her. He imprisoned her in a tight embrace, closing his eyes as he rested his head on the edge of the pillow, so that he could sink his face into the crook of her neck and breathe her in. It was then that he understood she wasn't sleeping; Blair grabbed his hand and gave it a little squeeze. "You don't smell like smoke anymore," she whispered in a drowsy, relaxed voice.

"I don't," Chuck kissed her shoulder, smiling against her skin. He inhaled a deep breath, answering to her touch with a gentle squeeze as well. All of sudden, he felt overwhelmed by a deep sense of gratitude; she was his balance, the main reason why he functioned and the architect of his happiness. The respect she had showed towards his relationship with Nate made him feel utterly loved; she would have never let him renounce to something as important as the bond between him and his best friend, not even if it meant, in some ways, having to share part of his attention. "Thank you," he told her quietly, placing another kiss on her temple.

Blair stirred only slightly in his arms. "It was nothing," she murmured. "Just a little push."

Chuck smiled, realizing she had quoted her own note. Blair wasn't the kind of person to repeat herself and he knew that such a short, blurry answer meant that she was drifting into sleep; she had spoken so slowly and so softly that he had no doubts about it. He let her sleep, wondering that he would have thanked her properly the next day.

* * *

When Chuck crossed his townhouse front door on that December Sunday afternoon, he knew immediately his wife was home. He recognized the notes of the _Habanera_ from _Carmen _coming from upstairs right away and smiled to himself; judging from the music, she had to be cheerful, he thought as he climbed the stairs, following the sound. It came from the third floor, which told him that Blair was probably in their bedroom.

Impatient to see her, he rushed to reach the room. The door was open and Chuck leaned against the doorjamb, pleased to enjoy the sight of Blair moving gracefully around the triumph of gold and black that was their suite, dressed in a black lace nightgown and silk robe. She was checking on several packages and boxes arranged on the bed, mouthing the words of the aria distractedly and smirking satisfied every now and then, surely happy about the contents of the bags. Tea with her mother had definitely ended up in a shopping date, he realized.

After a few seconds he decided it was time to reveal himself. "_L'amour est un oiseau rebelle_," he spoke from the doorstep. "I don't really agree; love is most of all faithfulness. It's in the simplest things, like coming home to a beautiful woman wrapped in sheering night clothes."

Blair, who had turned to look at him, smiled as he approached her. "Someone is romantic," she said, lacing her arms around his neck.

"What can I say?" he placed a hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer. "I'm in a good mood."

Blair raised her eyebrows. "So you won," she stated, looking perfectly sure of her words.

He frowned slightly. "Of course I did," he replied, an hint of offence tinging his voice at the thought she might had doubted his skills. "My uncle is not even close to be as good as I am at squash."

"Always so modest," Blair rolled her eyes. She raised up on her toes to place a brief kiss on his lips before freeing herself from his hold and turning.

She walked back towards the bed and Chuck followed her. Observing as she kept on scanning what she had bought, he noticed some _Ralph Lauren_ packages and, convinced that she had gotten him something, he reached out to one of them.

"Put that down, Chuck," Blair admonished him before he could peek inside. "It isn't for you."

He furrowed his brow, shooting her an interrogative glance. Feeling intrigued and somewhat jealous, he decided that his curiosity needed to be satisfied. He sank his hand into the package and extracted a tie. His eyes narrowed as he inspected the object. The fabric was exquisite, but the pattern was very simple and the color wasn't particularly appealing; a pretty basic navy blue he would have never chosen for himself. "I hope so," he commented perplexed.

Glaring at him, Blair pulled the tie and the package away from his hold. "As if I would ever buy you something so unpretentious," she rolled her eyes again as he frowned. "It's for Nate. He's been wearing the same two ties for three weeks straight. It's becoming embarrassing, so I got him a few new ones," she sighed, "hoping he'll manage to match them correctly with a suit."

Chuck's puzzled expression faded immediately. He chortled, amused both by her comment and by the fact that she had actually thought of his best friend while shopping; he was usually absurdly possessive when he came to his wife, but the way Blair acted with Nate, as if he was actually a part of her family and someone she had to take care of, pleased him immensely.

"I'm sure he'll like them," he said with a smile. He wrapped his arms around her once more and kissed her deeply. She had given him the life and the family he had always wanted and, together, they had built a house that was more than walls and furniture. It was a place to feel loved, to care for each other and to welcome the few people they wanted to share their life with; it was their home.

* * *

_And I built a home_

_for you,_

_for me._

* * *

**Notes:**

**[1]** The quote at the beginning at the end of the chapter are from the song "To Build a Home", by The Cinematic Orchestra

**[2] **This is possibly my favorite headcanon; I see Nate being part of Chuck and Blair's family and part of their domestic life.

**[3]** English is not my first language, I'm Italian. I apologize for possible mistakes.

**[4]**A big thank you to my dear Daphne for her support.


End file.
